


Wrap your roots all around my bones

by ghostinthelibrary



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Huddling For Warmth, Human Eskel, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Aiden/Lambert, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Monsters, Pining, Rimming, Smut, Whump, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27236065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostinthelibrary/pseuds/ghostinthelibrary
Summary: Someone clears their throat and Eskel swivels his head to find a witcher leaning against the wall of the barn, holding the reins of a little bay gelding and watching Eskel with an amused expression. Eskel’s mouth goes dry.“I hear you have a griffin problem,” the witcher says. “But I see you have more fearsome beasts to contend with.”Lil Bleater bleats her agreement.When Eskel, a goat farmer living in Velen, puts out a contract for a witcher to deal with the griffin terrorizing his livestock, he’s not expecting Jaskier, a pretty witcher with mismatched eyes who likes to sing. When he takes the contract, Jaskier isn’t expecting the reclusive farmer who hires him to be a kind man who talks to his goats and is willing to let Jaskier stay the night. Neither of them expect the other to become a friend, and maybe something more.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 552
Kudos: 742





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been working on this one for way too long and I'm finally putting it out there in the world! This is my first Jaskel fic, so I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> This fic exists in some hand wavy timeline about a decade after Nilfgaard's invasion. I've taken a lot of liberties with canon-- meaning I've tossed it into a dumpster and set it on fire.
> 
> Title is from "I Will Never Die" by Delta Rae.
> 
> Thank you to MaliciousVegetarian for betaing this chapter for me!

Jaskier has been on the Path for over a century and has seen the Continent a dozen times over. He’s always been able to find the beauty in every place he visits, from the narrow cobblestone streets of Novigrad to the peaks of the Blue Mountains to the barren emptiness of the Korath Desert to the rolling green hills and stark cliffsides of Skellige.

There’s no beauty to be found in Velen.

It’s a glorified swamp that should never have been settled, overrun with monsters and ruled over by corrupt lordlings. The weather is miserable and the people equally so. When Jaskier has a choice, he avoids it at all costs. That being said, more monsters means more coin and Jaskier is in serious need of coin. The winter was a long, hard one and people have been stingy with their payments this spring. Jaskier has already been stoned out of towns that didn’t want to pay him twice this season, and it’s not yet Belleteyn.

He would kiss a grave hag for a warm bed, a hearty meal, and a bath. For all three, he would make love to a grave hag all night long.

So when he sees a notice for a griffin in some middle of nowhere mudhole in Velen called Ashling Grove— a far nicer name than the place deserves— Jaskier takes it without hesitation. The reward is only for a hundred crowns, an insultingly low price for a griffin— especially at this time of year, when there may be a mate or cubs to worry about as well— but Jaskier’s coin purse is too light to be picky.

He brings the notice to the local tavern, where he slides it across the table to the barkeep. “What can you tell me about this griffin?”

The barkeep is young, probably a nephew or son of the owner. He eyes Jaskier with a mixture of curiosity and distrust. “Why do you want to know?”

Jaskier smiles at the lad. “I was thinking of asking it out for drinks.”

The boy’s expression doesn’t change.

Jaskier sighs. No one in this part of the Continent has a damn sense of humor. He taps the medallion around his neck. “Well, you see, I’m a witcher. Griffins are part of the job description.”

The boy jerks his chin at the notice. “That’s Eskel’s place.”

“And where is Eskel’s place?”

“Not far from here.” Bored of the conversation, the boy goes back to wiping down the bar with a rag that’s filthier than the surface he’s cleaning.

If Geralt or Vesemir were here, they would scowl at the boy until he was babbling in fear. If Lambert were here, he would probably say something rude and get himself chased out of town. And if Ciri were here, she would use her commanding princess voice and have the boy trip over himself to tell her everything she wanted to know, and possibly escort her to Eskel’s place himself. But Jaskier isn’t Geralt, Vesemir, Lambert, or Ciri, so he just stands there and smiles pleasantly, letting the awkward silence stretch out and letting the boy get a good look at his slightly too-sharp teeth.

Jaskier hears the boy’s heartbeat pick up as he remembers who— or what— it is he’s giving a hard time. The lad clears his throat and says, “Eskel has a goat farm ‘bout a mile south of here. Can’t miss it. Goats are always getting loose, so you’ll probably see one running around.”

“What about the griffin?”

“Don’t know much about it. Eskel keeps to himself, mostly. Hardly ever comes in here. He’s always been an odd duck, especially since the war.” The boy speaks like he knows this firsthand, like the war with Nilfgaard didn’t end a decade ago, when he was probably still clinging to his mother’s skirts. He’s most likely just parroting what he’s heard patrons at the tavern say about the goat farmer.

“Thanks for your time.” Jaskier leaves a coin on the counter, not because the boy was much help, but because he’s found it’s good practice to leave little courtesies like that. Even if he doesn’t linger here long, it could make life easier for the next witcher that passes through.

Jaskier heads south, in search of the goat farmer who’s in need of a witcher.

***

Lil Bleater is on the roof of the stables again.

Eskel stares up at the goat in dismay, arms folded over his chest. “This is the second time this week.”

He gets no response from the goat. He’s becoming increasingly convinced that Lil Bleater isn’t a goat at all, but some kind of fae creature sent to torment him into an early grave. She’s not even a year old, but she’s a bonafide menace.

Eskel asks wearily, “I suppose you don’t want to climb down on your own?”

Lil Bleater just cocks her head at him.

Eskel really doesn’t want to climb on the roof. He slept wrong the night before and his hip is stiff and sore. “Guess we’re having goat pie for dinner.”

She bleats her defiance.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Eskel says. “Roofs aren’t for goats. You got yourself up there. I don’t know why I should have to get you d—”

Lil Bleater jumps. Jokes about goat pie aside, Eskel would never forgive himself if she broke a leg, so he dives forward to catch her. He has a brief moment of gratitude that he raises Zerrikanian dwarf goats and not one of the larger breeds, right before all sixty pounds of Lil Bleater slams into him and brings him to the ground. Winded, Eskel lies there as Lil Bleater hops off of him with an indignant bleat. 

“I’m not even going to turn you into a pie,” he tells her when he finishes wheezing. “Just going to tie you up and leave you for the fucking griffin.”

With a groan, he sits up and begins to check Lil Bleater over for injuries. The goat starts chewing on the collar of his shirt, unrepentant. Eskel doesn’t have a single shirt that hasn’t been chewed on by goats.

“Couldn’t have raised cows,” he mutters. “Had to raise goats. Cows don’t get stuck on roofs. Cows don’t jump on the people who feed them.”

Someone clears their throat and Eskel swivels his head to find a witcher leaning against the wall of the barn, holding the reins of a little bay gelding and watching Eskel with an amused expression. Eskel’s mouth goes dry.

“I hear you have a griffin problem,” the witcher says. “But I see you have more fearsome beasts to contend with.”

Lil Bleater bleats her agreement.

“Erm.” Eskel hastily scrambles to his feet, letting Lil Bleater trot off to cause mayhem elsewhere. “You’re, uh, here about the contract?”

“You’re Eskel the goat farmer, correct?”

Eskel just nods, finding himself tongue-tied.

This isn’t the first witcher Eskel has ever met; they get at least a couple passing through town every year. But all the witchers Eskel has encountered before have been cut from the same cloth— beefy, scowly, and heavily scarred. Eskel wouldn’t even know this man was a witcher, if it weren’t for the twin swords strapped to his back and the wolf’s head medallion around his neck. His armor is bright blue, giving him more the appearance of a lordling playing soldier for the day, rather than a professional monster hunter.

It’s really his face that throws Eskel off. It’s… well, pretty. Almost a baby face, soft and round, framed by wavy brown hair that’s streaked through with white. He looks barely twenty-five, though he’s most likely much older. One of his eyes is yellow with the slitted pupil typical of witchers, the other a vivid cornflower blue. His smile is warm and inviting, despite the fact that his teeth are just a bit too sharp to pass as a normal human’s. Eskel normally tries to avoid smiling— it makes his scar stretch hideously— but he finds his lips curving upward of their own volition.

Eskel realizes that he’s been staring and quickly says, “I just put up that notice last week. Wasn’t expecting someone to answer it so soon.”

“Lucky for you, I was passing through the area,” the witcher says, with a self-deprecating twist of his mouth that makes the comment come off as charming instead of cocky. “I’m Jaskier.”

“Eskel.” Eskel holds out his hand to shake, then remembers that his hands are filthy. Before he had to rescue Lil Bleater from the roof, he was weeding the herb garden. He starts to withdraw his hand, but Jaskier reaches out and grips it firmly. His hands are as callused as any witcher’s, despite his pretty face.

Jaskier’s smile widens. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eskel.”

***

Jaskier is used to everything in Velen being muddy and lifeless (gods, he really hates this place.) But when he rides Pegasus up the path to Eskel’s farm, he’s surprised by all the green. The pastures are lush and grassy, with lavender bushes growing along the fence. He can hear the buzzing of bees and smell honey in the air. This farm seems alive in a way that not many places in Velen are. He glances down at his amulet, but it’s still against his chest.

He dismounts Pegasus and leads the gelding past a handful of fat chickens, clucking and pecking at the ground and a cheerful two-story farmhouse. He takes notice of the glass windows in the farmhouse. Someone who can afford glass windows should be able to pay more than a hundred crowns for a griffin.

He rounds the corner just in time to see a little brown goat leap from the roof of the stables into a man’s arms, knocking him to the ground. Jaskier watches as the man talks to the goat with fond exasperation, like it’s a willful toddler and not a farm animal that somehow ended up on a roof.

And once Eskel notices Jaskier and introduces himself, Jaskier realizes that the reclusive goat farmer is the most surprising thing about this place. Eskel is far from the grizzled old soldier Jaskier expected, hardly more than thirty. His hair is light brown and his skin the tan of someone who spends a good portion of their time outdoors. He’s tall and solidly built, with a broad chest and strong shoulders. The sleeves of his green cotton shirt are rolled up, revealing toned forearms. When Jaskier shakes the man’s hand, he has a hard time not staring at them.

Instead, he looks right into the farmer’s eyes, which are a soft hazel color, and is gratified when pink tinges Eskel’s cheeks. Jaskier pointedly does not look at the scar on the other man’s face. He knows all about scars; he has several of his own. But the scar on Eskel’s face is a perfect semicircle on his cheek. It clearly wasn’t inflicted by a creature’s teeth or claws, and most likely not in combat either. It’s too neat.

Someone must have deliberately carved that half-moon shape into Eskel’s face. It would have taken time. It would have been excruciating. Jaskier remembers what the lad in the village said— that Eskel has kept to himself ever since the war. Jaskier can see why. Once you experience that kind of cruelty from your fellow man, it can be hard to forget what people are capable of.

He’s even more surprised when Eskel invites him inside. Jaskier is good at making himself appear nonthreatening. He knows how to turn his head so that people’s focus will stay on his human blue eye and not his witcher yellow one and smile so that they won’t notice his sharp teeth. He still doesn’t get invited into people’s homes often. People don’t want him near their wives and children, no matter how friendly and harmless he seems.

When they step into the house, they find the same brown goat standing on its hind legs, nibbling on the lavender that’s spread across the oak table.

“No!” Eskel rushes towards the goat. “How did you even get in here?”

With a derisive bleat, the goat trots out the door. Eskel pulls the door closed behind him. “Need bait for the griffin?”

Jaskier could actually use bait for the griffin, but he’s fairly certain that wasn’t a serious offer, so he shakes his head with a smile. Out of habit, he scans the room for any potential threats, but finds nothing of concern. The first floor of the farmhouse is one big room, with a table and chairs in front of the hearth, a small sitting area with a cluster of faded armchairs, and a bed in the back corner. The bed surprises Jaskier, since there’s a second floor to the house and he assumes that there’s at least one bedroom upstairs. Next to the bed, there’s a small table piled with books, another surprise. One of the few good things Nilfgaard brought to the Continent is the popularization of the printing press, but books are still a rare luxury among the common folk.

“Sorry for the mess,” Eskel says, brushing the lavender to the side of the table and gesturing for Jaskier to sit. “My sister, Mavis, has convinced me to start selling soaps. She lives in Vizima and apparently goat’s milk soap is all the rage with the wealthy ladies.”

Jaskier picks up a sprig of lavender and rubs it between his thumb and forefinger. “It is good for irritated skin. Makes it soft too.”

He’s sure it’s not what Eskel was expecting a witcher to say; people never seem to think that witchers should care about things like hygiene and soft skin. Jaskier blames Geralt, the oh so famous White Wolf, for that. But Eskel only says, “That’s what she told me. She knows more about that stuff than I do.”

The human man is moving around the small kitchen, haphazardly picking things up and shifting them around. He doesn’t smell of fear, exactly, but he seems nervous. Jaskier wonders if he regrets inviting a witcher into his home now that they’re alone together in close quarters. He takes a step backwards, giving Eskel space.

“The griffin?” he prompts.

Eskel nods. “I’ve lost two chickens, my donkey, and four goats to it. Three of the goats were pregnant does.”

Jaskier winces. “How many goats do you have left?”

“Seven. Two bucks, five does.”

Over a third of his goats gone must be a devastating blow. “The notice said a hundred crowns.”

Eskel glances at the floor. “I know that’s low for a griffin, but it’s what I have. With four goats gone, I’m going to have a tough year. Less milk, cheese, and butter to sell and fewer kids born. And I’ll need to replace the donkey if I want to be able to bring my wares to the market in Gors Velen.”

Jaskier can hear the truth in his heartbeat, and sense the shame radiating off of him. All thoughts of trying to negotiate for a higher price fly out the window. A hundred crowns isn’t much, but it will at least pay for a night at an inn, so long as the innkeep doesn’t overcharge him too badly. Jaskier isn’t going to try to shake down this man for more money and he isn’t going to leave him to deal with a griffin on his own.

“A hundred crowns is more than fair,” Jaskier says brightly. “Throw in some of that lavender soap and we’ll call it a deal.”

***

All things considered, the griffin hunt goes smoothly. Jaskier leaves Pegasus at Eskel’s farm, stabled next to a black stallion that Eskel calls Scorpion. It doesn’t take long for him to track the griffin, which is roosted less than a mile from Eskel’s farm. The griffin is an adolescent male, thankfully without a mate or any cubs. It swoops down on Jaskier with a screech, nearly catching him off guard.

Jaskier drops to the ground and rolls to avoid the creature, narrowly missing a swipe from its massive paws. The griffin isn’t fully grown yet, still awkward with youth, and Jaskier feels a moment’s sorrow that he’s going to have to kill the beast. It’s settled too close to humans and it’s only a matter of time before it stops being satisfied with farm animals and starts going after the farmers. Thinking of Eskel’s kind hazel eyes, Jaskier draws his silver sword and leaps to his feet just as the griffin lunges.

It’s a quick, brutal fight. The griffin is enraged by the trespass on its territory, but it lacks the survival instincts that come with age. When Jaskier strikes the killing blow, driving the silver sword into its chest at the same time that he plunges a dagger into one of its eyes, the griffin lets out a pitiful shriek and collapses on top of him. Jaskier cries out in pain as his legs are crushed under the creature’s weight and he hears a bone snap.

For a moment, he lies there, breathing heavily and allowing a moment of self-pity. Broken bones aren’t the end of the world for a witcher. If he rests properly and takes some Swallow, he’ll be healed in a couple of days. But that doesn’t mean it feels good. With a groan, he rolls the griffin off of him and rises to his feet.

It takes a long time to hobble back to Eskel’s farm with the griffin’s severed head clutched in his hand. Every step sends a fresh surge of agony up his leg. He no longer feels guilty about having to kill the young griffin. In fact, he wishes he had a necromancer on hand so he could do it again. He has the xenovox Yennefer gave him for emergencies— _“actual emergencies, Jaskier, if you call me because your eyebrows got singed off again, I will turn you into a beetle”_ — maybe she could help. Though he doubts that she would count petty revenge as an actual emergency. Honestly, for essentially being his sister-in-law, Yennefer can be incredibly unhelpful.

It’s nearly nightfall when he gets back to Eskel’s farm and he’s wondering if he’s even going to make it to the farmer’s front door. He’s staggering up the path to the house when Eskel himself emerges from the stables. The man’s eyes go wide when he sees the griffin head in Jaskier’s hand.

“Your griffin’s dead.” Jaskier holds the head up. “I brought proof.”

Eskel grimaces. “That really wasn’t necessary.”

Huh, that’s new. Most people get testy if Jaskier doesn’t show up with a severed head.

“You okay?” Eskel asks.

“Oh, I’m fine. Leg’s just a little bit broken. Fucker fell on top of me.” Jaskier takes another step and nearly goes down.

To his surprise, Eskel hurries towards him. He’s two paces from Jaskier when he suddenly stops. Jaskier sees the realization of what exactly he was just rushing towards cross Eskel’s face. The witcher tries not to let his shoulders sag. He’s used to people flinching away from him, he tells himself. After over a century of it, he should be used to it by now.

“Can I help?” Eskel asks cautiously. “Is that okay?”

Jaskier stares at him. That isn’t what he was expecting. “You want to help?”

“You look like you’re about to fall over,” Eskel says. “Just maybe leave the head. I’ll deal with that later.”

“That would be good.” Jaskier drops the griffin head and sags forward. He expects to hit the ground. Instead, a strong arm wraps around his waist.

Jaskier blinks. Eskel must have made soap while Jaskier was gone; he smells of lavender and lye. His arm feels solid and warm around Jaskier’s waist. When Jaskier leans against him, Eskel takes his weight easily. Jaskier is no Geralt or Lambert, but he’s not a small man and the novelty of a human that can support his weight is shockingly appealing.

Jaskier is exhausted. He’s in pain. He needs a bath. But apparently, his cock didn’t get the message, because it gives an interested twitch.

 _Not now,_ he tells the overeager appendage.

“Alright?” Eskel’s voice is a low rumble in Jaskier’s ear and he realizes the other man has been waiting for Jaskier to give a signal that he can walk.

Jaskier swallows. “Never better.”

He leans against Eskel more than is strictly necessary as the goat farmer helps him towards the house. This time, the kitchen is goat-free. Jaskier expects Eskel to set him down at the table, but instead he helps Jaskier across the room and sets him down on the bed. It takes every ounce of Jaskier’s self-control not to make a comment about Eskel needing to buy him dinner first. The farmer is being kind; Jaskier can’t bring himself to say anything that would put the man on edge. Even if he does want to see Eskel blush again.

“What can I do?” Eskel asks.

“Oh, I’m fine. Witcher healing will take care of it in a day or two.”

Eskel crosses his arms over his chest. “What can I do, Jaskier?”

Oh and that stern voice works for Jaskier. “I keep my potions in my saddlebags. Can you bring me one of the yellow ones? Don’t drink any. Don’t even uncork them to take a sniff. You would die instantly.”

Eskel arches an eyebrow. “Good thing I put your bags out of reach of the goats.”

“The goats who can climb onto roofs?”

“Good point. I’ll just bring your bags inside. Knowing Lil Bleater, she’d drink one and get witcher powers. Then we’d all be fucked.”

Jaskier snorts with laughter and begins to shuck off his armor as Eskel leaves the house. Something is simmering in a pot over the hearth; the house is warm and smells divine. Jaskier’s stomach chooses that moment to remind him that he hasn’t eaten in two days. He wonders if Eskel will feed him if he looks pitiful enough.

When Eskel returns, he’s carrying Jaskier’s saddlebags and is trailed by the little brown goat.

“Someone escaped the barn?” Jaskier asks.

“Walls can’t contain Lil Bleater.” Eskel sets Jaskier’s bags down at the foot of the bed. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought your lute inside earlier. Seemed dangerous to leave it lying around where anyone—” He casts a significant glance at the goat. “—Could get to it.”

For the first time, Jaskier notices his lute case leaning against the wall. “Thank you. That would have been a terrible loss.”

“Figured.” Eskel crouches down and begins to go through Jaskier’s bags. “You don’t see many witchers walking around with a lute.”

There’s no judgement in the statement, just curiosity, so Jaskier smiles. “I’ve always liked music. When I was a boy, I wanted to be a traveling bard. Obviously, that didn’t happen, but the lute keeps me company on the road. I spend a lot of nights camping by myself in the middle of the woods. Music stops me from going mad.”

“Ever play for anyone else?”

Jaskier’s lips twitch. “Occasionally. Mostly to my brothers over the winter, though I sometimes run across a town where the idea of a singing witcher is an amusement. Or someone I take to bed will want to hear me sing in more ways than one.”

The tips of Eskel’s ears go pink. “It’s a nice lute.”

“Thank you. It was my payment for a contract in Posada.”

Eskel holds up a bottle of Swallow. “Is this what you need?”

“That’s exactly what I need.” Jaskier takes it with a grateful smile and downs the whole bottle. “I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

Eskel’s brow furrows. “What will you do until then?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. This isn’t the first time I’ve broken my leg. I don’t see any bone sticking out, which is an improvement over the last time.”

Eskel doesn’t seem reassured. “Do you mind if I take a look? My mother was a midwife and the town healer. I picked up some of her tricks.”

Jaskier has never in his life turned down the attentions of an attractive person, so he nods. “Thank you.”

Very carefully, Eskel rolls up the leg of Jaskier’s pants. His fingers are warm and callused against Jaskier’s skin. He winces at the bruising. “Definitely broken. Doesn’t look like it needs to be set, but we should splint it. And I might be able to do something for the bruises.”

“If you don’t mind,” Jaskier says, though the bruises will be gone by morning and the leg healed in a few days, with or without a splint.

Eskel’s gaze meets his. In the candlelight, his hazel eyes look almost as gold as a witcher’s. “I don’t mind at all.”

***

It’s been a long time since Eskel mixed the bruise ointment his mother used to make all the time when he was a lad. With four children running around the farm, the need for bruise ointment was frequent. Eskel never bothers anymore. Still, his hands go through the familiar motions without him having to put any conscious thought into it. When he turns back to Jaskier, he finds the witcher watching him thoughtfully. Something about having that mismatched gaze on him makes Eskel shiver.

He probably shouldn’t have put the witcher in his bed. It’s been a long, long time since Eskel had a man in his bed and it’s giving him thoughts that he shouldn’t be having right now, not when Jaskier is hurt. It’s not helping that Jaskier’s armor is gone, revealing a loose-fitting, cream-colored shirt that exposes a smooth throat and a generous amount of chest hair. Trying to focus on Jaskier’s injured leg, Eskel kneels down at the foot of the bed and begins to apply the tincture to the black and blue skin of Jaskier’s calf.

“That’s a hillfolk remedy, isn’t it?” Jaskier’s voice is light and conversational. Eskel supposes broken bones are probably no more than an inconvenience to him. “I recognize the smell.”

Eskel hesitates, then nods. “My mother was hillfolk.” Normally, that isn’t something he would share with a near-stranger. Many people don’t understand the hillfolk, get them confused with elves or the fae, though they’re neither. His mother was never shy about her ancestry, which resulted in a mixture of awe and suspicion from the locals.

“That explains a lot,” Jaskier says.

“Like what?”

“Why you’re so willing to invite a mutant into your home and nurse him back to health, for one.” Jaskier’s lips twist in a way that’s not quite a smile. “Also, this farm seems alive in a way that most places around here aren’t. ”

“Don’t think that has anything to do with me being hillfolk.” Eskel shrugs. “Pretty sure I’m as magical as Lil Bleater.”

Jaskier glances over at the goat, who’s snoring in front of the hearth. “She’s an impressive goat.” When Eskel chuckles, he smiles. “They do say that the hillfolk have magic in their bones. That they live twice as long as normal folk.”

“Wouldn’t know.” It’s true that Eskel’s mother was in her fifties when she died, but looked no older than thirty. Eskel is only thirty-one; if he is more long-lived than normal people, he probably won’t know for decades.

“And that they’re stunningly beautiful.”

Eskel grimaces. He’s heard that rumor before; it was used as a cudgel against him by the other children in the village when he was a lumbering, clumsy youth. “Can’t believe everything you hear.”

“No, you can’t.” Jaskier’s eyes are fixed on Eskel’s face. “But sometimes, the rumors are true.”

Eskel can feel his cheeks growing hot as he finishes applying the bruise ointment and begins to splint Jaskier’s leg. “What about the rumors about witchers?”

“All true,” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Stealing babies? We used to get most of our recruits through the Law of Surprise, so that’s not far off. Devouring raw meat? Well, I admit, I prefer my food cooked and thoroughly seasoned, but sometimes you get desperate on the road. Emotions? Never had one in my life.”

Eskel snorts, because he may barely know the witcher, but Jaskier has one of the most expressive faces of anyone he’s ever met. “You had me convinced until that last bit.”

“Damn, you’ve seen through my stoic facade.”

“Wasn’t much of a facade,” Eskel says. Maybe he should be watching his mouth more around Jaskier. Maybe he should be more cautious around someone who could break his neck with a thought if he says the wrong thing. But nothing about Jaskier registers as a threat. Maybe he’s being naive, but Eskel doesn’t think the witcher would raise a hand to someone who couldn’t fight back.

Jaskier laughs. It’s a warm, deep laugh and it makes him look even younger.

Eskel knows he’s staring. Clearing his throat, he looks away. “Your leg should be all set. Just, uh, try to stay off of it for a couple of days if you can.”

“Easier said than done, I’m afraid.” Jaskier lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Witchering is a rather mobile profession.”

Eskel imagines trying to ride a horse or camp on the ground with a broken leg and he winces. “You could stay here for a couple of nights.”

Jaskier looks surprised by the offer. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It’s not an imposition. You were hurt fulfilling a contract for me. It’s the least I can do. You’re just going to hurt yourself if you try to ride your horse to the nearest inn or camp on the ground. Stay.”

The witcher is quiet for a moment, considering. “How about this? I’ll waive your hundred crown fee if you let me stay until my foot is healed.”

“You don’t have to waive the fee.” A hundred crowns is a lot of money right now, but Eskel can manage it.

“But I want to. Getting to sleep in a bed for a few nights is worth far more than a hundred crowns. And if you feed me some of that stew, I should be the one paying you.”

Eskel almost forgot about the mutton stew simmering on the hearth. “You can stay here as long as you’d like, Jaskier. And have as much stew as you want, for that matter.”

The witcher’s grin is lopsided. “You shouldn’t say things like that to me, or you’ll never get rid of me.”

***

They eat stew, they drink ale, they stop Lil Bleater from getting into the ale, and they talk. At the end of the night, Eskel brings Jaskier a bucket of water and a cloth so he can clean himself up before bed, then trudges up the stairs, taking his time. He tries to avoid the second floor of his house as much as possible. Too many damn memories. He bypasses his parents’ old room. The door is closed, and has remained closed for the last ten years. It still smells like death to Eskel, even though he knows it’s just his imagination. His parents are long buried, the bloodstains on the floor scrubbed away years ago.

Instead, he goes to the room he used to share with his brothers and Mavis. He stands in the doorway for a moment, looking at the four narrow beds. He tries not to remember whispering with Mathias until Jakub would snap at them to shut the hell up. He tries not to remember giggling at dirty jokes and bickering and the occasional fist fight. He’s mostly gotten used to living alone on a farm that used to be filled with laughter. He’s learned to be content with the annual visits from Mavis and her daughters. But whenever he comes upstairs, he can no longer ignore that lonely ache in his chest.

He settles down on his childhood bed. It’s been too small for him since he was fourteen, with his too-long legs and broad shoulders. But he turns onto his side and closes his eyes, knowing that he’s going to dream of his parents’ blood on the floor and his brothers’ silenced laughter.

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jaskier has been staying with him for four days now and Eskel has mostly managed to distract himself from how good-looking the witcher is. Right now, there’s no way to avoid noticing it. Jaskier always seems to manage to make himself look less… witchery than he actually is. But without a shirt on, the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his arms, and the muscles of his narrow waist are on full display. He has an old bite mark on his side and a long, thin scar cutting between his shoulder blades. His skin is pale, his chest and arms dusted with thick dark hair._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments on the first chapter! I'm so glad you all love witcher!Jaskier, goat farmer!Eskel, and Lil Bleater the menace as much as I do.
> 
> Thank you to KHansen for betaing this chapter!

The next morning, Eskel gives Jaskier a pair of crutches.

“I hurt my hip during the war,” he says by way of explanation, looking as bashful as if he’s presenting a pretty girl with a bouquet of flowers. “Haven’t used them since. They’re yours.”

After a night’s healing, Jaskier’s leg is already on the mend, but he takes the crutches anyway because Eskel is really unfairly adorable. He hobbles around after Eskel while the man does his morning chores, providing helpful commentary.

“You should really be staying off your leg,” Eskel reminds him while he feeds his goats.

Jaskier grins. “I am off my leg. Look, my foot isn’t touching the ground!”

Eskel sighs and turns back to the goats. “Mr. Goat, let Lucy eat. She’s eating for three, you bastard.”

“Mr. Goat, huh?” Jaskier leans against the wall and watches Eskel shoe the cream-colored goat away from the very pregnant brown goat.

“My niece, Amelia, named him, along with his sister, Mrs. Wiggles.” Eskel nods to a white goat with brown spots who’s doing a delighted little dance at the prospect of food.

“Do they all have names?”

“Of course.” Eskel’s lips curl into a self-deprecating smile. “You know Lil Bleater, the devil incarnate. Lucy here is her mother, which you shouldn’t hold against her. She’s one of my best milk producers. This one is Apple.” He reaches down to give a fond pat on the head to a pregnant reddish-brown goat. “She’s getting up there in years. This will probably be the last year I breed her. She deserves a peaceful retirement.”

Most farmers would slaughter a goat who couldn’t produce milk anymore, Jaskier isn’t surprised to learn that Eskel allows his goats to live out their old age in peace.

“That’s my other buck, the Admiral.” Eskel nods to the largest of the herd, an all-black goat who is standing a bit away from the others, watching the feeding frenzy with a vaguely disdainful look. “I bought him off another farmer in Gors Velen last year. He doesn’t seem to like people much, so don’t be offended if he ignores you. And this is Chomper.”

Jaskier looks down at a little black and white goat, who is looking up at him with soulful blue eyes. With a smile, he reaches for her. “What a dreadful name for such a lovely— ow, fuck!”

Eskel snorts. “Careful, she bites.”

Jaskier cradles his hand against his chest. “You don’t say.”

He’s noticed that Eskel tends to look away when he smiles, like he doesn’t want Jaskier to see his scar stretch, but he seems to forget his self-consciousness when he laughs. His laugh is a glorious thing, making the corners of his eyes crinkle, and Jaskier decides he’ll nearly get his fingers taken off by a goat more often if it means he gets to hear that laugh.

“Mighty witcher, brought down by a goat,” Eskel says, still snorting with laughter.

Jaskier is helpless to do anything but grin at him. “There are worse ways to go.”

***

Jaskier, seeming to be incapable of actually staying off his feet for more than five minutes, takes to hobbling around on his crutches after Eskel as Eskel tends to the farm. Eskel finds he likes the company. He could get used to having a steady stream of chatter while he works. Jaskier doesn’t seem to require him to keep up his end of the conversation; he seems content with the occasional smile and chuckle. Which is good, because while Eskel has always considered himself a reasonably bright, well-spoken person, he often finds himself tongue tied around the too-pretty witcher.

It’s nice to have company that isn’t a goat. Eskel has acquaintances in the village. He’s friendly with the sheep farmers whose land neighbors his; they give him woolen clothes and mutton in exchange for goat’s milk and cheese. On his occasional trips into town to have a drink at the tavern, there’s a few men who knew his father who are happy to have a chat with him. But it’s not unusual for Eskel to go weeks at a time without a proper conversation. 

Eskel tells himself not to get used to it. The witcher will only linger long enough for his leg to heal, and then he’ll be gone and Eskel will be back to having no one but the goats and Scorpion to talk to. There’s no use getting attached to that brilliant smile or those striking eyes.

“You do this all by yourself?” Jaskier asks as Eskel milks the goats.

“Do all what by myself?”

“This.” Jaskier gestures around them expansively. “Tend to this whole farm.”

“It’s not a large farm.”

“Large enough. It certainly seems to keep you busy.”

“I like keeping busy.” Eskel shrugs. “Mavis is always after me to hire some help so I could come visit her in Vizima once in a while, but I never found the right person for the job. Why, you looking for a career change?”

“I don’t know, this seems like a dangerous job.” Jaskier holds up his hand, even though the marks from Chomper’s teeth have long since faded.

Apple bleats irritably, as if to remind Eskel that she’s there, and Eskel gives her an apologetic pat on the head and goes back to milking her. “We used to have more goats, back when my parents were alive and they had my brothers, Mavis, and me to help. We had cows and sheep too. But then, well, the war.”

He tries to keep his voice even, but the pain must show, because the smile drops off the witcher’s face and all he says is, “Ah.”

There’s a brief silence and Eskel kicks himself for ruining the lighthearted moment. This is why he doesn’t have any friends.

“Well, you’re a brave man, handling such vicious beasts on your own,” Jaskier says after a moment, flashing another smile. “Maybe you should be the one chasing after griffins with a sword. I think you’d look good in armor.”

Eskel would give a limb to have a flirty, jokey comment on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he can only mutter, “Thanks,” as his face turns a blazing shade of red.

***

After two days of staying at Eskel’s farm, Jaskier’s leg is pretty much back to normal. He can put weight on it with only a twinge of soreness, so he has no excuse for not donning his armor, climbing on Pegasus’s back, and riding away. He keeps his leg splinted and continues to use the crutches to get around, knowing that as soon as Eskel realizes that Jaskier is better, he’ll probably want the witcher to leave. And Jaskier isn’t ready to leave yet.

He enjoys talking to the farmer. He enjoys helping him make soap and chop vegetables for dinner. He enjoys making him laugh. He really enjoys making him blush. And he’s fairly certain that Eskel enjoys his company too.

Jaskier knows what loneliness looks like. It’s been his constant companion for this past century. He knows what it’s like to go to sleep in a room full of boys one night and listen to most of them scream themselves to death the next day. He knows what it’s like to go days without seeing another living person. He knows what it’s like to be chased out of towns with torches and pitchforks, turned away from brothels and inns, have children yanked out of his path like he’s a rampaging bull.

He sees that same loneliness in Eskel. It’s in the way Eskel talks to his goats like he’s used to them being the only ones he has to talk to. It’s in the way he had to hunt for a second bowl and spoon on the first night Jaskier stayed for dinner. It’s in the books he keeps in his bedside table, which are all about adventure and family and finding love. It’s in how surprised, but pleased, he looks every morning when he comes downstairs to find Jaskier still there.

After Jaskier leaves, Eskel will be alone again, and Jaskier hates that. So he keeps his leg splinted and keeps using Eskel’s crutches. Whenever Eskel asks how his leg is doing, he just shrugs and says, “Getting there.”

On his third night at Eskel’s farm, they’re eating a roasted rabbit that Eskel caught in a snare earlier, when Jaskier casually mentions Geralt’s habit of cooking his rabbits into charred husks and Eskel’s eyes become enormous. 

“You know Geralt of Rivia?” he asks, a little breathless. When Jaskier arches an eyebrow at him, he turns very red and continues, “I mean, I knew you were both Wolf School, but I didn’t really think about it.”

“He’s my oldest friend,” Jaskier says. “We grew up in the same cohort at Kaer Morhen.”

“Do you know Yennefer of Vengerberg and Cirilla of Cintra too?”

It’s strange to hear Ciri’s name spoken in such reverent tones, when Jaskier still sees her as the tiny twelve year old that Geralt dragged to Kaer Morhen over a decade ago. “Ciri is my niece in all but blood. Geralt is my brother. Yennefer… well, Yennefer and I like each other these days, which is more than I could have said twenty years ago. Granted, the first time we met, she threatened to castrate me, which is the kind of thing someone doesn’t forgive easily.”

“You know the three people who pretty much singlehandedly ended the war with Nilfgaard and brought peace to the Continent.”

“Please never say that in front of any of them. Yennefer will gloat, Ciri will argue with you that it was all luck, and Geralt will go hide in the woods for a week. He’s still not used to being famous for something good.” Jaskier takes a swig of ale to wash away the memory of Blaviken. “But yes, they’re family. Even Yennefer. Don’t see them often these days, now that Geralt’s semi-retired.”

“Witchers retire?”

“When they save the Continent, they get to.” Jaskier smiles ruefully. “But no, most of us keep going on until an alghoul or a kikimora takes us down. Geralt has a lovely little vineyard in Toussaint that he was given as payment for a contract. He still does some witchering, but not as much as he used to. He and Yennefer live there while Ciri travels the Continent as a witcher.”

“The former princess of Cintra is a witcher?”

“A damn good one too.” Jaskier feels the little glow of pride he gets in his chest whenever he thinks about how far Ciri’s come since he first met her.

Eskel looks down at the table. “They saved my life, you know.”

“Oh?”

“When I fought for Temeria during the war, I made my commanding officer angry.” Eskel touches the scar on his face in an absentminded sort of way, like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. The warmth in Jaskier’s chest is replaced by ice. “I was reassigned to the front lines. Soldiers in the front lines didn’t survive. If the archers didn’t get you, the mages would. It was as much of a death sentence as being hung from the gallows.”

He’s looking at a piece of dropped bread on the table, but it’s clear from his expression that he’s seeing something else. “The morning we were going to march against the Nilfgaardians, we got word that a peace treaty had been signed. Had it come an hour later, the battle would have already started and I wouldn’t have lasted five minutes. So your family saved my life. Thank them for me next time you see them.”

During Nilfgaard’s invasion, Jaskier saw far too much death. Soldiers, refugees, villagers. He watched from a distance as Cintra burned. He almost got used to the smell of smoke and rotting bodies that seemed to permeate the entire Continent for months. But the thought of Eskel being among those dead, bleeding out alone on a battlefield, makes him ache.

Next time Jaskier sees them, he’s going to buy Yennefer the Continent’s finest bottle of wine, Ciri the sharpest knife he can find, and Geralt— well, probably just something nice for Roach, since that will make Geralt happier than any trinket. He owes them that much, if they’re the reason this man with the soft hazel eyes and shy smiles is sitting across from him.

***

Most mornings, Eskel rises with the sun, snapping awake as soon as the first rays of sunshine illuminate his room. Today, he wakes when it’s still mostly dark out, with only the grayish glow of approaching sunrise outside his window. From outside, he hears the clank of metal. He stands and goes to the window, peering down.

Jaskier is in the yard, shirtless with his splint and his crutches abandoned on the grass next to him. He has his sword in hand and is doing a series of drills, thrusting and parrying at an invisible foe. He moves with an unnatural grace, his footwork sure, like he healed overnight. 

Jaskier has been staying with him for four days now and Eskel has mostly managed to distract himself from how good-looking the witcher is. Right now, there’s no way to avoid noticing it. Jaskier always seems to manage to make himself look less… witchery than he actually is. But without a shirt on, the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his arms, and the muscles of his narrow waist are on full display. He has an old bite mark on his side and a long, thin scar cutting between his shoulder blades. His skin is pale, his chest and arms dusted with thick dark hair.

But when he turns, it’s the expression on his face that makes Eskel’s mouth go dry. Gone is the easy smile and mischievous twinkle in the other man’s eyes. His expression is sure and intent, completely focused on the task at hand. Eskel is sure that this is the expression Jaskier wears in battle. It’s pure witcher. Eskel can’t help but imagine being the focus of that intense look under completely different circumstances and is mortified when he feels a sudden tightness in his smallclothes. 

Eskel steps back from the window, feeling like a lecher. He shouldn’t be gawking like a horny teenager, not when Jaskier has never said or done anything to suggest he would welcome that kind of attention. Shaking his head at himself, Eskel pulls on his clothes and heads outside with the intention of checking the traps to see if he caught anything for dinner. He purposely avoids the back of the house, where Jaskier is training. The last thing he needs is the witcher realizing how affected Eskel was by the sight of him shirtless.

The morning is crisp and helps clear Eskel’s head as he strides away from his house. He owns a lot of property, too much for him to handle by himself. He rents out most of it to other farmers and businessmen. Mavis has been poking at him to sell some of it, but he can’t help but feel like that would make his father roll over in his grave. He cuts through the barley field, which is rented out by the local brewer, towards where he set some snares at the edge of the woods the night before.

There’s a rabbit caught in one of the snares. Eskel dispatches it quickly and painlessly. It’s small, but it should be enough to feed him and Jaskier. Maybe he’ll go into town to get a loaf of bread today. Eskel wouldn’t normally waste his coin on something like bread, not when meat and vegetables from his garden suffice just fine, but it will most likely be Jaskier’s last day with him. If the witcher even plans to stay for dinner. He could already be gone by the time Eskel returns to the house.

That line of thought is cut off by a bleat behind him. He looks over his shoulder to see Lil Bleater looking up at him curiously. Eskel isn’t really sure why he even bothers stabling her overnight.

“I’m going to see if Jaskier wants to take you with him when he leaves,” Eskel tells her. “He might get hungry on the road.”

Lil Bleater dances from side to side, almost seeming anxious. Eskel frowns down at her.

“What’s wrong, Bleats?” he asks. “You know I’m not actually going to give you away. You’re my favorite. Just don’t tell the others.”

She bleats at him, just as he hears the sound of enormous wings flapping behind him.

Eskel has lived in Velen for every single one of his thirty-one years. He learned long ago that when you hear something big coming at you, you don’t stop to see what it is. You just run and hope for the best. He drops the rabbit, scoops Lil Bleater up in his arms, and makes a break for the barley field. Behind him, he hears a shriek and the sound of flesh being torn. Maybe whatever it is will be satisfied with the rabbit. Maybe it won’t bother with Eskel and Lil Bleater.

Eskel makes the mistake of glancing over his shoulder. The thing tearing the rabbit’s tiny corpse apart is like nothing he’s ever seen before— massive and nightmarish with feathery jet-black wings and a lizard-like body. As soon as Eskel sees its wingspan, he knows he won’t be able to outrun it. He throws himself to the ground in the middle of the barley field, covering Lil Bleater with his body. He wants to shout for Jaskier, but that will only draw the creature’s attention, and it’s much closer than the witcher. And if Jaskier got hurt coming to his aid again, Eskel wouldn’t be able to bear it.

The sound of wings flapping sends a surge of animal panic through Eskel. He curls himself tighter around Lil Bleater, who is staying perfectly still, for once. Please let the barley shield them from view, is all he can think. Please let a convenient deer run by and distract the creature. Please, please, please…

A shadow falls over Eskel and Lil Bleater. Eskel doesn’t need to look up to know that he is utterly fucked, that the best he can hope for is that the creature will just carry him away and leave Lil Bleater, the other goats, and Jaskier unharmed. He squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the agony of teeth and claws.

There’s no such thing as a peaceful death in Velen, he heard his father say once. Eskel should have known this was how he would end.

He’s known for ten years that when he died, he would be alone.

***

When Jaskier hears the shriek, he doesn’t stop to pull on his shirt. He doesn’t go to get his armor or any other weapons. He only has the steel sword he was training with (silver would be better, but the silver is in the house and the shriek is coming from the direction he heard Eskel walking only minutes before) and runs. There’s another shriek, but it’s still the creature. No human screams of pain yet. Jaskier doesn’t stop to consider that maybe Eskel never got the chance to scream. He refuses to entertain the possibility that he’s too late.

He sees the creature on the edge of the barley field. It’s large and winged and for a second, he thinks it’s another griffin, but then he sees the reptilian face. It’s the largest cockatrice he’s ever seen, bigger than most basilisks and wyverns. It’s bearing down on something and as Jaskier gets closer, he smells the sour scent of terror. And then he sees Eskel, curled up on the ground, trying to protect Lil Bleater with his body while the cockatrice flies at them. The cockatrice’s clawed feet are extended, ready to snatch Eskel up.

Jaskier has seen the corpses left behind by cockatrices. It’s a bad death, one he won’t allow Eskel to suffer. Eskel, who is kind and sweet and funny. Eskel, who blushes whenever Jaskier smiles at him. Eskel, who is defending his damn goat instead of trying to save his own life. 

Jaskier lets out a roar and vaults over Eskel to slash at the cockatrice’s belly. The creature screams and sails upwards as ichor splatters on the ground. It circles them, just out of Jaskier’s reach.

“Jaskier?” Eskel’s voice is choked with fear.

Jaskier stands over him, sword at the ready, but doesn’t look at him. The moment he takes his gaze off the cockatrice, they’re dead. “When I tell you to run, run. Whatever you do, don’t look it in the eyes. It will hypnotize you.”

“But you—”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m immune.” The cockatrice dives towards them and Jaskier casts Igni. The creature screams again and dodges the flames.

“Run!” Jaskier shouts at Eskel and to his credit, the farmer does as he says. With Lil Bleater cradled against his chest, Eskel flees across the barley field. He would run faster without the goat, but Jaskier doesn’t waste his breath telling him that. The cockatrice tries to pursue and oh fuck no, that is not happening. Jaskier casts Igni again, driving it back. The cockatrice turns mid-air and swoops towards Jaskier. Jaskier casts Aard, blasting it backwards.

They’re at an impasse, with the cockatrice circling him, staying out of range of Jaskier’s sword and signs. The first one of them that gets distracted or falters will be the one who dies. Jaskier looks into those burning, too-intelligent eyes and isn’t confident that the cockatrice will be the one who makes a mistake first. As he thinks it, the beast swoops again, claws getting dangerously close to his chest before he slashes at it with his sword. The blow barely ruffles its feathers before it flies back into the air.

And then he hears a heartbeat, getting closer. Horrified, Jaskier looks over his shoulder and sees Eskel running at him, carrying his armor in one hand and his crossbow in the other. Both things that Jaskier could use right now, but the last thing he wanted was Eskel risking his life to bring them to him. He shouts a warning, just as the cockatrice turns and flies at the farmer, low enough that its feet skim the stalks of barley. Eskel drops the armor and begins to load the crossbow, but he’s clearly not practiced at it. Jaskier can see his hands are shaking.

Jaskier takes a running leap and dives onto the cockatrice’s back. It tries to buck him off and he drives his sword into its wing joint, eliciting an ear-splitting wail from the creature. It lists to the side and he has to clench his legs around it to avoid tumbling to the ground. He stabs it in the back again and again until it crashes to the ground, twitching. At a final swipe of his sword across its throat, the creature goes still.

Jaskier looks up at Eskel, who has just finished loading the crossbow and is holding it uselessly at his side, staring at the cockatrice in shock. His eyes are locked on the creature’s dagger-like claws. Jaskier sees the moment what just happened hits Eskel. He’s seen that look on countless people’s faces: the shock, the horror, the realization that they came inches from death. His face goes ashen and for a second, Jaskier thinks he’s going to fall over.

Jaskier strides towards him and takes him by the shoulders, checking him over for injuries. “Are you alright?”

Eskel’s gaze doesn’t leave the cockatrice.

“Eskel, are you okay?” Jaskier asks again, more urgently, and the farmer’s eyes snap up to meet his gaze.

“Yeah,” Eskel says hoarsely. “It didn’t… thank you.”

Jaskier takes the crossbow from his hands, removes the bolt, and lets it fall to the ground, before continuing to check him for injuries. “While I admire your bravery, next time I tell you to run, just run. Don’t come back to help me.”

Eskel’s eyes flicker downwards and Jaskier is suddenly very aware that he’s still shirtless. “You didn’t have any armor. I thought…”

“I’ve been in more dangerous fights with less protection,” Jaskier tells him with a reassuring smile. “You shouldn’t worry about me, dear heart.”

Eskel’s cheeks turn such a dark red, it nearly looks purple, and Jaskier is glad that he’s physically incapable of blushing.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks to cover up his embarrassment. Pet names, of all things. Lambert and Geralt would laugh themselves sick. Well, Lambert would. Geralt would just grunt and smile, which is the same thing for him.

“Yes. Is your leg…”

“It’s fine.” Jaskier looks down at his uninjured leg. He doesn’t mention that it’s been fine for two days now. “Good as new.”

“Good.” Eskel’s gaze flickers back to the cockatrice. “Thank you. I thought it had me.”

“It nearly did. Why didn’t you shout for me?” With a pang of horror, Jaskier wonders if Eskel didn’t call for him because he thought Jaskier’s leg was still injured. If Eskel nearly got killed because of Jaskier’s stupid, childish ruse to stay here, Jaskier will never forgive himself.

Eskel swallows. “Didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Eskel, I nearly get hurt for a living.” Jaskier is proud of how steady his voice is. “I would much rather be the one with a monster coming at me than you.”

“I saw you training,” Eskel says. “I knew you didn’t have your armor. I know you’re a witcher, but that thing had big fucking claws.”

So it wasn’t the leg, it was the lack of armor. Jaskier wants to kiss him. He doesn’t, because he doesn’t make a habit of kissing people who still reek of fear. He knows he’s not the reason Eskel is afraid, but he doesn’t want that to change. He’s misjudged a human’s interest before. He never wants his touch to be the reason someone flinches away in terror again.

Eskel looks down at the ground, flushing even darker. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Without thinking, Jaskier brings his hands up to cup Eskel’s face. He’s surprised by how soft the other man’s skin is, with just the faintest rasp of stubble under his fingers. “You don’t ever need to apologize to me. What you did was brave.”

“You mean stupid?” Eskel’s lips twitch.

“That too. But we’re focusing on the bravery right now. Just do me a favor?”

“Anything.” Eskel’s voice is soft and breathy and Jaskier is hit by the overwhelming urge to close that gap between them, to finally capture the other man’s mouth in his. But he needs to wait for Eskel to make the first move.

Jaskier lets go of Eskel and takes a step back. “Please don’t do it again.”

***

After his legs have stopped shaking and his heart is no longer pounding, Eskel does go into town to get more bread, and honey cakes for dessert, because the witcher has mentioned having a sweet tooth. And after Jaskier saved his life, he owes the man all the honey cakes in Temeria. Eskel spends the day trying not to think about how close he came to being a monster’s dinner. Equally difficult not to think about is the way Jaskier looked when he threw himself between Eskel and incoming danger without hesitation. Eskel is pretty sure he nearly swooned like one of the maidens in the novels Mavis sends him from Vizima.

After they eat, Jaskier pulls out his lute and begins to sing. Eskel isn’t sure what he expects. Maybe one of the raunchy drinking songs that are so popular in taverns, the kind that take hardly any vocal talent. After all, witchers aren’t known for being the best singers.

He should know by now not to assume that Jaskier is a typical witcher.

Jaskier’s voice is as rich and sweet as the honey cakes. Eskel is fairly certain he could sing even the basest of tavern songs and elevate it to a court-worthy ballad. But the song he sings is a slow ballad in Elder. Eskel doesn’t speak a word of Elder, but he can hear the sadness and longing in Jaskier’s voice. He closes his eyes as he listens, letting the words wash over him. He can feel heat stinging at the corner of his eyes and is glad that the witcher is focused on his lute and isn’t looking at Eskel.

The last note seems to echo through the room after Jaskier finishes. Eskel opens his eyes and finds the witcher watching him with those mismatched eyes. He barely suppresses a shiver. He’s trying not to read into the way Jaskier looks at him sometimes. It’s wishful thinking, he knows. He resigned himself years ago to be satisfied with his own right hand and the occasional brothel visit, because handsome men don’t look at him like that. Especially not gorgeous, worldly witchers who are friends with war heroes and travel the Continent, saving goat farmers from monsters.

Jaskier seems to want to be his friend, and Eskel doesn’t have enough friends to risk ruining that. Eskel has to keep reminding himself of that whenever he thinks of how it felt to have Jaskier’s warm, callused hands on his face.

He realizes he’s been staring back at Jaskier and clears his throat. “That was beautiful. Did you write it?”

Jaskier smiles crookedly. “Oh no, I can’t take the credit. I spent some time with Filavandrel and his people. That’s where I got this lute.”

“You know the king of the elves? You’re going to tell me you’re friends with Emhyr var Emreis next.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘friends.’ Personally, I find the man insufferable. But we’ve met.”

Eskel has so many questions, but he decides against asking them. “What’s the song about? It sounded sad.”

“Tragic love, of course. All good songs are. An elven maiden falls in love with a human man. They’re separated, but she promises to return to him. But she forgets that humans age faster than elves. By the time she comes back to him, he’s died of old age and she wastes away from grief at his graveside.”

Eskel swallows the lump in his throat. “Well, I can see why it’s not popular in taverns.”

Jaskier chuckles. “You prefer happy endings?”

“There are so few in real life. I enjoy them in my books and my songs.”

“You like to read.”

“What gave you that idea?” Eskel looks ruefully at the pile of books next to his bed. “My sister, Mavis, sends them to me from Vizima. We both like stories with adventure in them.”

And romance, though Eskel doesn’t add that. He doesn’t want to look any more pathetic than he probably already does.

“Are you and your sister close?”

“Mavis and my nieces are the only family I have left. She and her husband moved to Vizima after the war. He’s a mason and there was plenty of work for him there. She and her girls come to visit every year around midsummer. He doesn’t come with them, because he’s an ass.”

Jaskier snorts. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why do you stay here?”

“Not a fan of Velen?”

“Not at all.”

Eskel chuckles. “No one is, but this is my home. My great-great grandfather won this land in a game of Gwent. I grew up in this house. There are too many memories here. I could never leave. And the people in the village aren’t bad. They just… I don’t fit in with them. Maybe I could if I tried harder, but I’ve never been good with people.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Eskel.”

Eskel shrugs. “I’m not like you. I’m not friendly or charming.”

“That isn’t even remotely true.” Jaskier leans forward, eyes glinting in the firelight. “You know, I used to think there was nothing in Velen worth seeing. You’ve proven me wrong.”

***

Jaskier leaves the next morning at dawn. Eskel follows him to the stables and watches as he saddles up Pegasus. Lil Bleater keeps getting under the witcher’s feet and he steps over her deftly.

“Your leg still okay?” Eskel carefully tries not to sound too hopeful.

“Right as rain.” Jaskier winks at him. “You took good care of me.”

Eskel can feel his face growing hot. Fuck, he didn’t even know it was possible to blush this much. “You know, you’re always welcome to visit again. I’d always be happy to have you.” He realizes how that sounds, and is fairly certain that his face turns purple. “I mean, happy to have you here. To visit. Whenever you want.”

The witcher is watching him with an amused expression. “I told you before, you shouldn’t say things like that to me. You may never be rid of me.”

If Eskel were a braver man, he would tell him that would be the opposite of a problem. “It’s been nice having you here.”

“It’s been nice being here. And you.” He turns to Lil Bleater. “Try to be a good goat. Less escaping and climbing onto roofs, okay?”

Lil Bleater starts to chew on his saddlebags. With a sigh, Eskel pulls her away. He most likely won’t see Jaskier again, he realizes. The witcher seems to have enjoyed himself, but that’s probably just Jaskier’s personality. For a moment, Eskel wonders if he should close the distance between them. What does it matter if the witcher rejects him, since Eskel will probably never see him again? This may be his last chance to see if Jaskier’s white-streaked brown hair is as soft as it looks or if his lips taste as good as Eskel’s been imagining them.

But then Jaskier swings himself up onto Pegasus’s back and smiles down at Eskel. “Take care of yourself, my friend.”

Eskel tells himself not to be disappointed that Jaskier didn’t call him ‘dear heart’ again. “You as well. Thank you for everything.”

“It was my pleasure.” Jaskier’s gaze flickers over him and then he spurs Pegasus into motion. Eskel thinks about calling after him, but instead he watches until the witcher and his horse have vanished from view. When he looks away, he finds Lil Bleater staring up at him. He doesn’t think he imagines the judgement in the little goat’s gaze.

“Don’t say a word,” he tells her sternly, then grimaces.

Guess he’s back to talking to goats.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all taking care of yourselves this week! Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jaskier looks ridiculously pleased with himself. “Got them as payment for killing a noonwraith in Kovir,” he says. “They seem like good goats. This one is Dandelion. That one is Buttercup. Or maybe this one is Buttercup. I don’t know, I can’t tell them apart. You’re the one who knows goats.”  
>  Eskel blinks at him. “Thank you.”  
> “There’s a but there,” Jaskier says, arching an eyebrow. “I can tell there’s a but.”  
> “It’s just, I raise Zerrikanian dwarf goats. Those are Kestrels.”  
> “Is there a difference?”  
> “Yes. Zerrikanians are dairy goats. Kestrels are raised for meat.”  
> Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “You’re going to_ eat _Buttercup and Dandelion?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all your lovely comments! They absolutely made my week.
> 
> Thank you to KHansen for betaing this chapter!

Jaskier likes humans. He knows that’s odd for a witcher— Geralt, Coën, and Vesemir are wary of humans, Aiden treats them with amused disdain, and Lambert outright loathes them. But Jaskier has always been able to find the beauty in most of the people he meets, even the ones who chase him out of town with pitchforks, spit in his ale, and refuse to let him into their taverns or brothels. Humans are confusing, ridiculous creatures and Jaskier _adores_ them.

He’s always been one to fall in love easily. Too easily, his brothers would say. His heart (and his cock) have gotten him into trouble more than once. So it’s not entirely surprising when, a month after leaving Velen, he still finds his thoughts returning to kind hazel eyes, broad shoulders, and shy smiles. He can’t deny how fond he grew of Eskel in the few days they spent together. The young man was charming and fucking _adorable._ One of the greatest regrets of his long, long life is that they didn’t fall into bed together.

Normally, Jaskier would just write a song, visit a brothel, and relegate Eskel to a pleasant memory. But he can’t stop thinking about the goat farmer. More worryingly, he keeps finding himself traveling south, towards Velen, without even thinking about it.

He’s in southern Kovir, listening to a farmer grovel about the three hundred crown payment that Jaskier was promised, which seems to have mysteriously vanished in the two hours it took Jaskier to dispatch the noonwraith haunting the cornfield, when he catches sight of two lovely goats grazing in the pasture. Jaskier knows next to nothing about goats, but they seem like fine specimens of goathood, both a buttery golden color with floppy ears.

“Don’t worry about the coin, my good man,” Jaskier says, because he’s fairly certain that the farmer is about to collapse to the ground and beg for his life, and that will just be uncomfortable for everyone. “I’ll take those goats as payment.”

***

Eskel stands in his doorway, staring in disbelief at the witcher in front of him. He wasn’t expecting to ever see Jaskier again. He definitely wasn’t expecting him to show up with two goats.

Jaskier looks ridiculously pleased with himself. “Got them as payment for killing a noonwraith in Kovir,” he says. “They seem like good goats. This one is Dandelion. That one is Buttercup. Or maybe this one is Buttercup. I don’t know, I can’t tell them apart. You’re the one who knows goats.”

Eskel blinks at him. “Thank you.”

“There’s a but there,” Jaskier says, arching an eyebrow. “I can tell there’s a but.”

“It’s just, I raise Zerrikanian dwarf goats. Those are Kestrels.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes. Zerrikanians are dairy goats. Kestrels are raised for meat.”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “You’re going to _eat_ Buttercup and Dandelion?”

Eskel looks at Buttercup— or maybe Dandelion— who is nuzzling Jaskier’s hand, like she’s looking for treats. He sighs. “No, they’ll produce milk, just not as much.”

“Excellent! So you can now breed Kestrels too.”

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?”

“They’re both does.”

“Ah.” Jaskier looks down at the goats. “I see.”

“I don’t know if they gave you the talk about how babies are made at Kaer Morhen...”

The witcher snorts. “So I suppose you’ll be needing a bull?”

“A buck,” Eskel says. “Please don’t show up here with a male cow. And really, don’t worry about it.”

Two weeks later, Jaskier shows back up with another Kestrel, this one a large reddish brown one. “We’re going to call this one Lambert,” Jaskier announces when Eskel opens the door. “Because he’s a fucking asshole.”

“Isn’t one of your brothers named Lambert?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Jaskier winces at Lambert the goat headbutts his thigh. “You have my permission to eat this one.”

Eskel bites back his laughter. “Want to come in for dinner? One of my neighbors gave me venison.”

Jaskier visibly brightens. “I would love to.”

***

Jaskier starts collecting books whenever he can. While he loves stories, he’s always preferred the engagement of listening to a tale being told aloud over reading it on a page. However, he finds himself asking for a stack of books as part of payment from a baroness in Cidaris when he takes care of an infestation of drowners on her estate. Whenever he sees a book that looks promising at the market, he purchases it. Soon, he has an entire bag of books.

Returning to Velen for the third time in two months isn’t that pathetic, he tells himself as he makes his way back towards Eskel’s farm. After all, there’s always work in Velen. Case in point, he kills a wyvern, an alghoul, two bruxae, and a grave hag as he makes his way through the region and makes a tidy bit of coin. This is entirely business. It has nothing to do with the memory of the pleased expression on Eskel’s face the last two times Jaskier has shown up unannounced.

As he and Pegasus make their way towards Eskel’s farm, Jaskier is surprised to hear the sound of children’s voices. He rounds the corner to find two little girls running around with a small herd of baby goats. Last time Jaskier was here, Apple had just given birth to two kids and Mrs. Wiggles and Lucy were both ready to go into labor any day now. They both must have had successful labors, because there are seven adorable little goats running around.

The girls both look up. One, a freckle-faced redhead of about eight, smiles widely at him, displaying several teeth in various stages of growing in. “Hi! Who are you?”

Jaskier dismounts from Pegasus and crouches down so he doesn’t tower over them. “I’m Jaskier, a friend of Eskel’s. And who might you be, my lady?”

The girl giggles. “I’m Amelia. Mama always says Uncle Eskel doesn’t have enough friends.”

Ah, so this is the niece who named Mr. Goat and Mrs. Wiggles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Amelia. Is this your sister?” He turns his smile to the younger of the two girls, a tiny blond of about five, who has her thumb jammed in her mouth and is watching Jaskier with wide hazel eyes.

“This is Gretta,” Amelia says. “She doesn’t talk, because she’s still a baby.”

Gretta frowns and yanks her thumb out of her mouth. “Am not!”

“Are too.”

“No, Liesl is a baby.”

“You’re both babies!”

“Is your uncle here?” Jaskier asks, as much as he would love to listen to more of this debate.

“He’s inside, with Mama.” Amelia turns around and hollers, “Uncle Eskel!”

Jaskier winces. It’s amazing how someone that small can make so much sound. The girl could be a fine singer someday. “Thank you.”

“Are you a witcher?” Amelia asks.

“Yes.”

“Can I hold your sword?”

“I think your mother and your uncle would both object to that.”

The girl doesn’t look like she thinks much of that, so she turns and calls for her Uncle Eskel again.

The door to the house opens. “Amelia, I told you, you can ride Scorpion later.” Eskel steps outside, holding another little girl, a chubby blond toddler, on his hip. When he sees Jaskier, his eyes widen in surprise. “Jaskier!”

“Hello.” Jaskier bites the inside of his cheek, suddenly self-conscious. It never occurred to him that Eskel would have company, which he realizes in retrospect was an oversight on his part. Eskel told him that his sister and nieces normally visit from Vizima around midsummer. It’s just past midsummer now. Jaskier should have thought about it, but he hadn’t, and now he’s quite possibly intruding on the one time a year that Eskel gets to see his family.

A woman appears behind Eskel. She’s a plump, pretty blonde with a freckled face and the same hazel eyes as her brother. When she sees Jaskier, the smile falls off her face and she grabs her brother’s arm like she means to pull him back into the house, out of Jaskier’s line of sight. “Amelia!” she calls, voice thin with panic. “Gretta!”

Jaskier doesn’t let his hurt show, even though the sight of eyes that look just like Eskel’s watching him with fear is like an icicle through the chest. Amelia and Gretta obediently return to their mother’s side, Amelia loudly complaining the entire way.

“It’s okay, Mavis,” Eskel says in a low voice. “He’s a friend.”

“Eskel, he’s a—”

“Friend,” Eskel says firmly, cutting her off. “Hello, Jaskier.”

Jaskier straightens up and moves towards Eskel and his sister slowly, careful to hold his head in such a way that his hair blocks his yellow eye. He keeps his voice cheerful as he says, “I was in the area. Thought I’d stop by. Apologies for intruding.”

“You’re not intruding.” Eskel’s expression is so full of warmth that it almost makes up for the sour scent of his sister’s fear. “Mavis, this is Jaskier. He’s the one who killed that griffin I was telling you about. Saved me from a cockatrice too. Jaskier, this is my sister, Mavis, and her daughters—”

“He already met us, Uncle Eskel.” Amelia looks up at her uncle in exasperation. “Can I ride Scorpion now?”

“Tell you what, go feed the chickens for me, and then you can ride Scorpion.”

Amelia trots off to do as she’s told, though Gretta stays clinging to her mother’s skirts, watching Jaskier with a solemn expression.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Jaskier offers Mavis a close-lipped smile. He’s fairly sure the sight of his teeth would make her faint. “Eskel’s told me so much about you.”

Maybe it’s the smile, the fact that she can’t see his slit-pupiled eye, or Eskel’s clear lack of fear, but Mavis visibly relaxes. “You as well,” she says, the picture of politeness.

Jaskier has no intention of sticking around to make Mavis uncomfortable and ruin Eskel’s visit with his family. He takes a step backwards. “Well, I was just passing through and wanted to drop by to make sure you weren’t having any more trouble with griffins. I suppose I’ll be on my way.”

Eskel reaches out and snags Jaskier by the wrist. “Come on, stay awhile. Buttercup and Dandelion have missed you.”

And because Jaskier is helpless to resist him, he lets Eskel pull him inside.

***

Eskel knew that Jaskier was friendly and charming, but he’s surprised by how quickly the witcher manages to ingratiate himself with Mavis and her girls. With Amelia, it’s not too surprising. She’s always been a sociable child. But shy little Gretta follows Jaskier around like a duckling all day and baby Liesl keeps clambering into his lap. Even Mavis, who seemed terrified of him when he showed up, has warmed to him by suppertime. She doesn’t even seem worried that he’s sitting at the table with Liesl on his lap and Amelia and Gretta on either side of him.

Jaskier is entertaining the girls with stories of slaying various monsters while Mavis helps Eskel clean up from dinner. “When I told you to make friends, Eskel, I didn’t think you would bring a witcher home,” she tells Eskel in a low voice.

Eskel glances over his shoulder at Jaskier, who he’s sure will be able to hear every word he says in response. “He’s a good man. And a good friend.”

“He seems to be,” she says. “He really brought you goats?”

“He did.”

She looks worried. “But what would he want with you?”

“I think he might just like me, as hard as that is to believe.”

Mavis frowns at him. “Of course he likes you. Who wouldn’t? I just didn’t think witchers had friends.”

“Pretty sure most of what people say about witchers is bullshit, Mav. Especially the parts about no emotions. Look at him.”

They both look over at Jaskier, who is busy gently pulling his medallion out of Liesl’s mouth while Amelia hangs onto his arm, demanding to hear more about the djinn who nearly killed him in Rinde. The sight of Jaskier’s indulgent smile as the gentle way he handles the girls does something peculiar to Eskel’s heart.

Fuck, he’s in so much trouble here.

“Just be careful, love.” Mavis reaches out to squeeze his arm. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

They’ve never talked about Eskel’s preferences in romantic partners, though Eskel is sure she knows. Her husband, Piotr, was in the same squadron as Eskel and everyone knew why their commander hated Eskel so much.

“I’m always careful, Mav,” he says.

And that’s the problem, Eskel thinks and he looks back over at Jaskier. He wants to be less careful sometimes.

***

Later, Jaskier brings out his lute and serenades the girls until Liesl and Gretta are both asleep and Amelia is protesting loudly that she isn’t really tired between her yawns. After Mavis brings the girls upstairs to bed, it occurs to Eskel that he overlooked one major factor when he offered to let Jaskier stay the night: where the hell Jaskier is going to sleep. Jaskier looks between Eskel’s bed and Eskel, a little smile curling his lips.

“I have a bedroll,” he says. “I can sleep on the floor.”

Eskel swallows, feeling his face go warm. “The bed is big enough for two to fit comfortably.”

“Is it?” Jaskier arches an eyebrow.

“Not that… you can sleep on the floor, if you want. I just figured you sleep on the ground all the time and you might want—”

“I’m never going to pass up the chance to share a bed with a handsome man,” Jaskier says and so much blood rushes to Eskel’s face that he thinks he might pass out.

Eskel blows out the candle and they both climb into the bed, which creaks under their weight. The room is dark, save for the dying embers in the hearth. Eskel is sure that Jaskier can still see him clearly, though the darkness allows Eskel to pretend that he’s alone in his bed, that the most beautiful man he’s ever known in his life isn’t within arm’s reach. He lies on his back, hands clasped over his chest, and tries not to move.

In the darkness, Jaskier chuckles. “I can feel your tension from over here. If you want me to sleep on the floor—”

“No.” Eskel closes his eyes and tells himself to get a fucking grip. “Sorry, I’m just… it’s been a long time since I shared a bed with someone.”

Which his body is forcibly reminding him of right now.

“Thank you,” he says, forcing himself to focus on something other than his memories of Jaskier shirtless. “You were kind to the girls. I know they can be a lot.”

“They’re charming girls. My greatest regret is that I didn’t know Ciri when she was younger. Geralt didn’t claim her until she was twelve. We missed so much time with her.” Jaskier takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if your sister likes me.”

“She’ll warm up to you,” Eskel says. “Mavis is just protective. She was the oldest of us, and she always kept the rest of us in line. Even Jakub, who never listened to our parents, came to heel when she told him off.”

Jaskier chuckles. “I can see that.”

“Having Mavis and the girls here reminds me of how things used to be, back when my parents and my brothers were alive,” Eskel says. “It’s been over ten years. Some days, it feels like yesterday.”

Jaskier doesn’t say anything, but Eskel can feel the question in the silence.

Eskel turns over on his side so he can see the outline of Jaskier on the other side of the bed. “Jakub was the first one to enlist in the army, when Nilfgaard invaded,” he says. “None of us saw it coming. He was never one to follow orders, not even as a boy. But he said he wanted to join of his own volition, before they started conscripting lads. He was killed in the siege of Vizima and not long after, Mathias got it into his head to join up. He was the youngest of us, only seventeen.”

Jaskier lets out a long breath.

Eskel remembers his baby brother: bright, funny, still young enough to believe in some greater purpose. Jaskier would have liked him. “I knew he would get himself killed on his own, so I joined up too. We were in the same squadron. We’d been in the army about a year when we were patrolling one night and came across a group of Nilfgaardian scouts. Should have been an easy fight. We had them outnumbered three to one. But one of their men got in a lucky hit and Mathias…”

When he trails off, unable to elaborate, Jaskier whispers, “Oh, Eskel.”

Eskel swallows. “I went after the man who killed Mathias. I had him cornered and I saw that he was just a boy, younger even than Mathias. Couldn’t even grow a beard yet. And he was terrified. I couldn’t kill him. I let him get away. In the army, they really don’t like it when you let an enemy combatant get away.”

“Is that when you were assigned to the front lines?” Jaskier asks.

Eskel nods.

“And when…”

Jaskier trails off, but Eskel knows what he’s asking. He reaches up to touch the scar on his face. “My commanding officer was a bit of a bastard. And he’d never liked me.”

“He did that?”

“Of course not. He ordered someone else to do it.” A man Eskel considered a friend, who had tears in his eyes as he carried out the order.

Jaskier is silent for a long moment and when he speaks, his voice is colder than Eskel has ever heard it. “This officer of yours still alive?”

“Doubt it. He was half-dead from drink then, and that was ten years ago.”

“Pity. Not that he’s probably dead, but that I didn’t get to have a chat with him first.”

Eskel smiles humorlessly, not caring that it will make his scar stretch. With a start, he realizes that he hasn’t cared about that around Jaskier in a while. “I was dishonorably discharged from the army as a coward. But at least my parents never knew about that, or that Mathias had been killed.”

“What happened to them?” Jaskier asks softly.

“You know what they say about the hillfolk,” Eskel says. “That we all have untold riches buried beneath our houses. After peace was declared, there were Nilfgaardian and Temerian soldiers alike roaming the countryside, pillaging and killing. Someone must have told them about my mother’s hillfolk blood, or maybe they just wanted to cause trouble and picked my parents at random. I’ll never know. I’ll never even know what side did it. But when I got home…”

“You don’t need to tell me,” Jaskier says. “I apologize, I never should have asked. It’s no business of mine.”

But Eskel hasn’t talked about this in ten years, besides the letter he sent to Mavis to tell her that their parents had died. He never even gave her all the details; he couldn’t do that to her. “All the animals were gone. My mother’s jewelry too. Door was kicked down. Muddy bootprints all over the place. I could smell the blood and the rot from downstairs. They were in their bedroom. I don’t think they died quickly or easily.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier whispers.

“Fuck,” Eskel agrees. “Haven’t been in their room since I buried their bodies and cleaned up the blood. Haven’t even opened the door. Don’t like going upstairs at all, if I can help it.”

There’s a burst of fire and the candle on the bedside table lights up. Jaskier sits up, looking at Eskel in horror. “So all the times I stayed here and you slept upstairs…”

“I slept in my old bedroom and I was fine.” _Fine_ is a bit of an exaggeration, but Jaskier doesn’t need to know that. “I want you here, Jaskier. I like having you stay with me. It’s nice to have company. Besides when Mavis and the girls visit, I don’t get a lot of that. People in town know why I got discharged. Most of them are friendly enough, but I’m still the coward who got his face carved up for refusing to kill Nilfs.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Eskel shrugs. “Maybe.”

“No, it’s bullshit,” Jaskier says. “Eskel, you’re a good man. You spared a boy’s life. There was so much death in those years. You should have gotten a fucking medal for refusing to cause any more, not tortured by your own people. _Fuck_ that.”

Eskel swallows back the lump in his throat. “Well, it’s not a unique story around here. Terrible shit happens in wars. Lots of people lost their families.”

“Just because it’s not unique doesn’t mean it’s not terrible.”

Neither of them say anything.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz,” Jaskier says after a moment. “Viscount de Lettenhove.”

“Who is that?”

“Me. Or it was me, about a hundred and twenty years ago.”

Eskel isn’t sure what’s more shocking; that Jaskier is about ninety years older than him or that Jaskier is a noble. “You’re a viscount?”

“I _was_ a viscount. Heir to Lettenhove, in the western part of Redania. We had a fiend problem when I was six? Maybe seven? It’s been so long, I don’t remember. Fiends are an expensive monster problem to have. They’re dangerous, so a lot of witchers won’t take the job unless there's a generous amount of coin involved. It would have stripped the estate’s coffers, so my father, the Earl de Lettenhove, offered an alternate form of payment.”

“You,” Eskel says quietly.

Jaskier nods. “I wasn’t earl material, apparently. Too busy daydreaming when I should have been paying attention to my fencing lessons, like a good noble lad. My father would have much preferred my younger brother as an heir. So everyone won. My father got the obedient heir he so desperately wanted and Kaer Morhen got another recruit.”

“Gods.” Eskel has heard terrible things about the trials that witcher children go through. He can’t imagine a parent willingly sending their child away, knowing what was going to happen to them. Knowing that they would suffer and quite possibly die. His parents had wept when he and his brothers had gone off to war.

“But joke’s on him,” Jaskier says smugly. “My brother inherited the earldom and almost immediately got himself hanged for conspiring to overthrow the king of Redania. Lettenhove got divided up between four of its neighboring earldoms, one of which is now part of Kerack. Most people have forgotten it ever existed.”

“Good,” Eskel says, pleased that Jaskier has outlasted the home that threw him to the wolves.

Jaskier chuckles sadly. “But it was for the best. I would be long dead by now if my father hadn't sent me away. I would have stayed in Lettenhove my whole life and made for a miserable viscount. And I never would have met you.”

Eskel’s swallows hard, unsure of how to respond to that. “What was it like, growing up at Kaer Morhen?”

“Hard. Terrifying. Often lonely. We all grew up knowing that we had a seven in ten chance of dying horribly in the Trials. That’s not an easy thing for a child to swallow.”

Eskel shudders at the thought.

“The Trials were… well, imagine being torn apart from the inside and set on fire at the same time. And then as soon as we woke up, they put Geralt and I through a second round.”

“Why?”

“Guess they wanted to see what would happen. The mages were sadistic fuckers. Have to be, I guess, if you’re going to send boys to their deaths. I didn’t mourn them when Kaer Morhen fell. It was an experimental procedure. It turned Geralt extra-witchery. He’s stronger and faster than any of us. But it had the opposite effect on me. You might have noticed that I’m not much of a witcher.”

Eskel frowns, remembering how fast Jaskier moved when faced with that cockatrice. “You seem pretty damn witchery to me.”

“You would be the only one who thinks that, then,” Jaskier says softly. “The mages think I must have had some non-human blood, because they’ve never seen anyone react to the mutations the way I did. Some of them just didn’t take. I’m not as durable as my brothers. Senses aren’t as sharp. Not as strong or as fast either. I feel emotions more acutely. Even one of my eyes didn’t change. Varin, the old fencing instructor, used to call me a half-witcher.”

Eskel hates the bitterness in Jaskier’s voice. It seems all wrong. “Varin sounds like a prick.”

Jaskier barks with laughter. “You’re not wrong.”

Eskel thinks for a moment, then says, “I don’t know much about witchers, so I don’t have much to compare you to. But you’ve survived for over a century. You wouldn’t still be here if you weren’t durable. You’ve outlasted most of the people who told you you weren’t enough of a witcher, right? So what does that say about them?”

For once, it’s Eskel that renders Jaskier speechless.

***

Before he leaves the next morning, Jaskier presents Eskel with the reason for his visit in the first place— the bundle of books stored in his pack. Eskel’s eyes go wide as he flips through the titles.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he says, even as he’s already thumbing through the pages of an adventure story set during the Conjunction of the Spheres.

“I just picked them up here and there along my travels.” A smile curls Jaskier’s lips. “I thought you would enjoy them.”

“I will. I do.” Eskel picks another book and looks at the title with a raised eyebrow. “ _The Pirate and the Viscount_ , huh?”

“Ah.” Jaskier glances at the cover, which displays a menacing-looking pirate locked in a passionate embrace with a swooning young man. Both of their shirts are in tatters, displaying an amount of chest and abdomen that can’t be advisable for working the deck of a ship. “Apologies, I picked that up for my own… personal use.”

“Nope.” Eskel holds the book out of his reach. “It’s mine now.”

Jaskier tries to snatch the book from his hands, but it’s a weak attempt, more an excuse to step into his space. Their chests are neatly touching. “Oh, so you want to read about the pirate and the viscount and their scandalous adventures on the high sea?”

Eskel looks sheepish. “I’ve read other books by this author. They’re, um, quite good.”

“Yes, the climax was thrilling.”

Eskel’s eyes widen and then he dissolves into laughter. Jaskier begins laughing too and the next thing he knows, they’re both giggling like school boys who just came across a stash of dirty drawings. When he’s able to breathe again, Jaskier is about to suggest that Eskel might be interested in reading about the pirate and the viscount together, but he’s interrupted by the approaching patter of little feet.

Jaskier steps back from Eskel just as a pair of small arms throw themselves around his legs. “You’re going to come to Vizima to visit us,” Amelia tells him haughtily. “And you’re going to let me ride Pegasus again.”

Jaskier places his hand against his chest in a courtly fashion. “I would be honored, Miss Amelia.”

“And maybe you can get Uncle Eskel to come visit us too. You can visit us together.”

Jaskier glances over at Eskel and sees that the dirty book has mysteriously vanished from his hands. “I would like that.”

***

Jaskier stops by twice more that summer, once with another bundle of books and then with some dried flowers for Eskel’s soap. He doesn’t stay the night either time, only lingering long enough to share an ale and a conversation before heading back out on the Path. Eskel doesn’t let that disappoint him.

He doesn’t see Jaskier for most of that autumn, which he also doesn’t let disappoint him. The witcher is busy; he must have better things to do than travel to Velen to bring Eskel books and flowers. Eskel was lucky to have seen him more than once; wanting more is just greedy.

One night, he’s in the stables, feeding the goats, Scorpion, and the donkey, when he hears a noise behind him. The days are getting shorter and it’s dusk, so when he turns around, he can barely see the person standing behind him. All he sees are a pair of ichor black eyes. Eskel drops the bucket of feed and flinches back, mind full of vampires, ghouls, and other creatures who would be only too happy to make a meal of a lone, unarmed goat farmer.

“Eskel.” The voice is low, raspy, and completely devoid of its usual warmth, but Eskel would recognize it anywhere.

Heart still racing with residual panic, Eskel steps forward. “Jaskier?”

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” Jaskier’s features are completely alien, his eyes turned pure black with dark veins crawling across his face. His skin is chalk white and his lips bloodless. He doesn’t look anything like the pretty witcher Eskel knows, but he still manages to be one of the most beautiful things Eskel has ever seen.

And then Eskel notices that he’s shaking.

“What happened?” Eskel hurries towards him and Jaskier sags against him. There are no injuries that Eskel can see, but Jaskier’s breath is coming out in harsh, shallow gasps.

“Leshen,” Jaskier croaks. “Took too many potions. Toxicity.”

“Is there another potion you can take?”

“Golden Oriole. I’m out.”

Eskel swallows back his panic. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Won’t kill me. Just needed somewhere safe to sleep it off.”

Eskel helps Jaskier inside and sets him down on the bed. He goes back outside to secure Pegasus in the stables and to get Jaskier’s things. When he comes back inside, Jaskier has taken off his armor and his boots and is lying on his back with his fists pressed against his eyes.

“Is there anything I can do?’ Eskel asks, because he’s never seen Jaskier look so vulnerable, not even when his leg was broken.

“Just sit with me. Everything is too loud. Light is too bright. It’s too much. Having you here gives me something to focus on.”

Eskel goes to bank the fire in the hearth, plunging the house into the gray darkness of nightfall. Slowly, he goes to sit down on the bed next to Jaskier. “Is the leshen dead?”

“He better be, the fucker. Used all the bombs Lambert gave me.” Jaskier almost sounds like himself.

They fall into silence. Not knowing what else to do, Eskel lies down next to Jaskier. He has no intention of closing the space between them, but to his surprise, Jaskier rolls over and buries his face against the side of Eskel’s neck. Eskel freezes, hand hovering over Jaskier’s back.

“Is this okay?” Jaskier murmurs.

Eskel can barely breathe. “Yes.”

“Like listening to your heartbeat.”

“What’s so special about my heartbeat?”

“Not the heartbeat. Who it belongs to.”

Eskel closes his eyes. Fuck, it shouldn’t be possible to want someone this much and not burst with it.

“Sorry I scared you earlier,” Jaskier says. “Didn’t mean to.”

“I just didn’t know who you were. I couldn’t see clearly. I thought I was about to get ripped apart by a vampire.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen.” Jaskier loops a protective arm around Eskel’s waist.

Eskel lets his hand settle on Jaskier’s back. “I know.”

They lie there in silence for a long time, so long that Eskel thinks Jaskier has fallen asleep.

“I didn’t realize I was coming to see you until I was here,” Jaskier says finally. “All I knew was that I needed to get somewhere safe. Can’t defend myself when I’m like this.”

The witcher feels strangely fragile tucked against Eskel. “You’re safe here.”

“I know.” It’s too dark to see Jaskier’s expression, but Eskel can hear the smile in his voice. “You’ll protect me.”

Eskel holds him a little tighter. “Always.”

***

At the start of every winter, Jaskier meets Geralt at the base of the Blue Mountains and they make the trek to Kaer Morhen together. Yennefer and Ciri always portal to the keep; Yennefer refuses to have anything to do with the Killer. Coën will already be at Kaer Morhen; he always goes up early to help Vesemir prepare for the winter. Lambert and Aiden always wait until the last possible moment to arrive, because Lambert is always determined to act like he might not return that year, when he’s the only one of them who has returned every single winter since he set out on the Path.

As soon as Jaskier sees Geralt, he feels a knot of tension in his chest relax. Even though Geralt no longer walks the Path as frequently as he used to, he’s always had a knack for making powerful enemies and getting himself into scrapes he can’t get out of. Every year, Jaskier is relieved to see his brother alive and well. (He credits Yennefer and Ciri for Geralt’s continued survival, though he would never tell them that.) Geralt pulls him into an embrace— another thing Jaskier can credit Yennefer and Ciri for, since Geralt never used to be one for physical affection.

“It’s good to see you, Jask,” Geralt murmurs. “You look good.”

“I was just in Velen.”

Geralt wrinkles his nose. “That shithole?”

Jaskier chuckles. “It has its charms.”

“If you say so. You’re the poet.”

“Only took you over a century to admit it.”

Geralt just snorts and shakes his head with an expression that Jaskier chooses to interpret as fond exasperation.

It takes them three days and nights to make the journey up the mountain to Kaer Morhen. They fall into a familiar routine. Jaskier chatters happily about his year on the Path— notable monsters he faced, funny stories about aldermen who tried to pay him with bags of rocks, tales of some of his more adventurous visits to brothels— while Geralt listens quietly, humming or chuckling in response. When they were younger, Jaskier used to think that his brother wasn’t listening to him, but he’s since learned that Geralt’s silence usually means he wants Jaskier to keep talking. He’ll tell Jaskier when he wants him to shut up. It’s a pleasant journey, despite the chill of the mountain air and the handful of wyverns and wargs they run into. Jaskier is almost disappointed when they reach the keep.

To his surprise, they’re the last ones here.

“Aiden nearly went and got himself eaten by a zeugl so we had Keira portal us here early so he could recover.” Lambert doesn’t embrace Jaskier— he’s not the hugging type, unless it’s a ruse to steal Jaskier’s ale— but he does clap him on the shoulder.

“Keira? Is she here?” Jaskier is very fond of Aiden and Lambert’s sometimes-lover, and not just because she occasionally joins him in bed when she gets tired of Lambert’s general Lambert-ness.

“No, she said she was in the mood for civilized company this winter, whatever that means.” Lambert rolls his eyes. “Her loss.”

“She’s the wisest of us.” Aiden limps towards Jaskier and Geralt, favoring his right side. Whatever injuries he sustained, they still seem to be bothering him. “And I came nowhere close to dying.”

Lambert scowls at his lover. “You’re damn lucky you didn’t lose a leg.”

“I came nowhere close to losing a leg. You’re getting nearly as dramatic as Jaskier.”

Jaskier and Lambert both make offended noises at that.

“Jaskier!” Ciri comes bounding towards them.

“Your Highness.” Jaskier starts to sweep into a bow, but Ciri tackles him. Laughing, he picks her up and spins her around, something that was much easier to do when she was a small, skinny twelve year old.

“I missed you,” Ciri says.

“I missed you too, pup.” He squeezes her and puts her down. “Have you grown taller? I swear you’ve grown taller.”

“That’s what happens when you get old,” Yennefer calls from the doorway of the keep. “Your memory starts to go.”

Jaskier turns to grin at her. “There you are, Yennefer. I thought I heard the wails of small children.”

She smirks. “And I knew you were here as soon as I heard the weeping of music critics Continent-wide.”

“Only because they have nothing to criticize.” Jaskier goes to kiss her on the cheek while Ciri greets Geralt and Roach. “It’s good to see you.”

“You as well.” She pats him on the shoulder. “Come on, get inside. You two took your time getting up the mountain. You nearly missed dinner.”

***

Dinner turns out to be goat, which Jaskier tries very hard not to feel guilty about. He grew up eating goat; it was a nice treat when the alternative was usually mutton. Jaskier tries not to think about Lil Bleater’s little face as he washes down a bite of roasted meat with a swig of ale. The White Gull will probably come out in a few hours; he needs a full belly if he’s going to keep up with the others. Crowded around a table with Vesemir, Coën, Geralt, Lambert, Aiden, Yennefer, and Ciri, he’s warm and content. Now that Lambert and Geralt have their own families, Kaer Morhen is starting to feel like a home again for the first time since the sacking.

Jaskier finds his mind wandering to Eskel. He wonders how the goat farmer would like Kaer Morhen. Suddenly, he pictures Eskel tucked against his side, laughing along with the others to the tale Coën is currently telling about the vicious water sprite that turned out to be nothing more than an angry goose. He pictures Eskel’s hazel eyes turned golden from the light of the hearth, the way he would smile at Jaskier. He pictures being curled up against Eskel like he was only a few weeks ago and feels himself grinning.

“There’s that look,” Lambert says. “Who is it this year?”

Jaskier looks up, startled out of his reverie. “Who is who?”

“Whoever you’re gazing into the fire all moony-eyed about.” Lambert grins, showing all his teeth. “There’s someone new every year.”

“There is not!” But when Jaskier thinks back to winters past, well…

“There is,” Geralt says. “Last year, it was that whore in Vizima.”

“Agneta is not a whore, she is a high-end courtesan, thank you very much! And sadly, I returned to Vizima last spring to find that a wealthy merchant had made an honest woman of her.”

“Who was it the year before that?” Ciri asks. “That duchess from Touissant who tried to execute him for adultery?”

“That was all a misunderstanding,” Jaskier protests.

“Oh no, she was at least three or four years ago,” Yennefer says. “Two years ago was that terrible minstrel from Cidaris.”

Jaskier groans. “Please, let’s not talk about Valdo Marx.”

“And before that, there was that blacksmith in Skellige,” Aiden says.

“Sven remains a dear friend,” Jaskier says with a sniff.

“Then there was the duchess,” Yennefer says. “And before that, a countess, right, Jaskier?”

“The Countess de Stael, a fine woman and patron of the arts.”

“The medical student in Oxenfurt,” Geralt grumbles.

“The tailor in Novigrad,” Coën adds, which is just disappointing, because Jaskier thought that Coën would be more mature than the rest of these degenerates.

“The succubus.”

“That pretty little bard with the blue eyes.”

“Half of Brokilon Forest.”

“Half the Redanian royal family.”

“Alright, I get it.” Jaskier leans back in his chair. “I am a man who enjoys the finer things in life, including beautiful people. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“But you never answered my question.” Lambert leans forward intently. “Who is it this year? Another dryad?”

“Or maybe a sorceress?” Yennefer asks. “There are at least a few members of the Lodge you haven’t tried to sweet talk into your bed yet.”

“This is incredibly childish behavior from all of you.” Vesemir speaks for the first time. There’s a moment of silence, broken when Vesemir cracks a smile. “My money’s on another succubus.”

Jaskier’s jaw drops. “Are you placing bets on who I’ve fallen in love with?”

No one answers, but the guilty expression on Coën’s face is answer enough.

“And do you do this every year?”

“Lambert’s won four years in a row.” Aiden gives his lover a deeply disgusted look.

Jaskier shakes his head. “I’m appalled. I cannot believe that I’m being treated in such a way by my own family. The people I love and trust most in the—”

“So, is it a dryad or not?” Lambert demands.

“Not,” Jaskier says primly. “His name is Eskel and he’s a goat farmer.”

There’s a beat of silence. Again, it’s broken by Lambert. “Fuck, none of us had money on a goat farmer.”

“I came closest,” Ciri says. “A goat farmer is pretty close to a shepherdess.”

Jaskier snorts. “So, if none of you won, does that mean I get the payout?”

“No, it means that whoever wins next year gets double the payout,” Lambert says. “So?”

Jaskier sighs. “So what, Lambert?”

“You’re not going to rhapsodize about his eyes? Or his luminous complexion? Or his marvelous physique?”

Jaskier thinks of Eskel’s smile and feels his own lips twitching up at the corners. “No, I’m not.”

“Oh no,” Ciri says. “You really like this one, Jask.”

“Yes,” Jaskier says simply. “I really do.”

***


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Coming from Gors Velen, boys?” the bandit closest to them, a bearded man with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, says. “From the looks of that empty cart, I’d say you had a good day at the market. I bet that coin purse is heavy. Why don’t you let us help you with it?”  
>  It’s dark enough that they may not have noticed that Jaskier is a witcher. He worries that if he reveals this fact, they’ll start firing arrows. With a vulnerable human standing next to him, he can’t risk that.  
> “That’s not necessary, gentlemen,” Jaskier says. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. The money we made at the market has already been spent on ale and whores.”  
> “Jaskier,” Eskel says in a low voice.  
> “Is that so?” the leader asks. With a flick of his wrists, both crossbows are pointed at Jaskier. “Those are some fine-looking swords. Why don’t you drop them?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your lovely comments on the last chapter! While I normally try to respond to each comment, I didn't quite have the spoons this week. Please know that I read and appreciated every single one. You're all incredible!
> 
> Thank you to KHansen for betaing.

The winter is a good one, as winters in Kaer Morhen always are. Jaskier spends his days helping Vesemir around the keep— there always seems to be some project that needs doing— and sparring with his brothers and Ciri. Lambert tries to tease him about Eskel a few more times, but Jaskier keeps his lips closed and his brother eventually grows bored of the topic. Jaskier’s affection for Eskel feels more personal than the things he’s felt for his other conquests. Even the little bit he’s shared with the others leaves him feeling oddly exposed.

He often finds himself wondering how Eskel would react to Jaskier’s strange little family. He knows that Eskel and Geralt would get along; they have similar quiet natures. And Eskel would adore Ciri, because everyone adores Ciri. Vesemir would enjoy having an extra competent pair of hands around the keep and Jaskier can see Eskel reacting to Lambert’s barbs with good humor. Even Yennefer would probably like Eskel.

It’s a pointless fantasy, but it’s a good one, and Jaskier holds it close to his chest when it’s late and he’s watching the way Geralt and Lambert look at their respective lovers, like there’s nothing more precious in the world than Yennefer and Aiden. It’s been a long, long time since someone looked at Jaskier like that.

“Heading to Velen?” Geralt asks Jaskier when the snow has melted and it’s time to return to the Path.

Jaskier searches his brother’s face for any signs of mockery and finds none. “I’m thinking about visiting Triss in Gors Velen. Haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Triss, huh?” And now there’s a teasing glint in Geralt’s eyes, but it doesn’t have the cruel edge that Lambert’s often has.

“Yes, Triss. And if I stop by a certain goat farm afterwards, that’s no one’s business but my own.”

“Just be careful, Jaskier,” Geralt says, the teasing abruptly gone.

“I’m no delicate maiden swooning over a knight. I know what I’m doing.”

“You may not be a maiden, but that doesn’t mean I want to see you hurt.”

Jaskier feels a surge of affection for his brother. “I’m not the one who shares a bed with Yennefer of Vengerberg. Of the two of us, I’d say you’re in far more danger.”

Geralt doesn’t argue, which Jaskier takes as an admission that he’s right.

Jaskier rides for Gors Velen as soon as he leaves Kaer Morhen, only stopping to take a contract for an endrega nest. He finds Triss in her tiny shop in Gors Velen. He’s never understood why his friend— who used to be the court mage of Temeria, for Melitele’s sake, and could find a position anywhere on the Continent— has chosen to settle down in this shitty little city, of all places.

“The people here need me,” Triss told him the one time he got drunk enough to ask. “This region has suffered more than anywhere else on the Continent. The locals need someone looking out for them, because their lordlings won’t.”

As soon as Jaskier steps foot in her shop, Triss’s lovely face lights up. “Jaskier! What a pleasant surprise. On your way to visit your goat farmer?”

Jaskier stops dead in the doorway. “How did you know about Eskel?”

“Keira told me.”

“How did Keira— oh, fucking Lambert.”

Triss laughs. “It all sounds terribly romantic to me. You’re in luck. Today’s the first market day of the spring and all the local farmers are in town.”

“Is it?” Jaskier is very glad that Triss isn’t a witcher and can’t hear the way his heartbeat picks up ever so slightly. It’s a ridiculous reaction; he knows that Eskel comes to Gors Velen to sell his wares at the market, but that doesn’t mean Eskel is here _today._

“Would you like to go for a walk?” Triss bats her eyelashes at him with a teasing grin. “Maybe you’ll find something at the market that you like.”

“Sometimes, you’re as dreadful as Yennefer,” Jaskier tells her and is rewarded with a high, musical laugh.

***

Eskel has never really liked going to Gors Velen. When he was a boy accompanying his father to the market, he had always been overwhelmed by all the people. At the age of six or seven, he wandered away from his father to pet a stray cat and got lost. He roamed the city for hours, terrified, until his father finally managed to find him. It was the one time he ever saw his father truly angry. Even as a grown man, he sometimes still gets that feeling of being a lost child whenever he goes to the city.

But it was a long winter and Eskel needs the money he’ll make selling soaps, cheese, and butter at the market. Almost as pressing is his need to visit a brothel. After months of nothing but his right hand and more fantasies than he can count about slit-pupiled eyes and a sharp-toothed smile, he’s in need of some company. One of the brothels in Gors Velen has a young man working who never stares at Eskel’s scars and will hold Eskel when the deed is done, for a price. He’s a pleasant enough lay, even if he’s not the person Eskel really wants.

Eskel’s not fool enough to think he can have who he really wants, not even after a winter’s worth of fantasies.

So on the day of the first market of the season, he shaves off his winter beard, takes an extra thorough bath, and puts on a brand new shirt. It’s red and doesn’t have a single hole from being chewed on by goats.

On foot, the trek to Gors Velen takes about four hours. Eskel leaves just after dawn and gets there mid-morning. He always makes decent money at the market— he’s damn good at making cheese and butter, and the butter he sweetens with honey is especially popular. Mavis’s idea about the soap was a good one; he’s completely out of stock within a couple of hours. It’s an unusually successful day and Eskel is in high spirits as he sneaks some honeyed cheese to a group of hopeful-looking children.

“Eskel!”

Eskel looks up, stomach suddenly full of butterflies at the sound of the familiar voice. Jaskier is striding towards him, arm in arm with an absolutely breathtaking woman. Eskel’s heart plummets. The woman is golden-skinned and bright-eyed, with an adorable smattering of freckles across her nose. He can tell she’s a mage the instant he claps eyes on her; normal people aren’t that beautiful. She and Jaskier look perfect together, walking side by side. Eskel suddenly feels foolish for being proud of his hole-free shirt.

Then Jaskier smiles at him and Eskel forgets to be self-conscious, because it’s impossible to feel dull and plain when Jaskier is smiling at him like that.

“Eskel,” Jaskier says again in a warm voice and pulls Eskel into an embrace.

Eskel tries to think of something witty or profound to say. What comes out is: “Hi.”

He feels the vibration in Jaskier’s chest as he laughs. “It’s good to see you.”

Eskel steps backwards, cursing his traitorous heartbeat, which is going far too quickly for him to feign nonchalance. “What brings you to Gors Velen?”

“Visiting a dear friend. Eskel, this is Triss Merigold. Triss, this is Eskel.”

“I’ve heard so much about you.” Triss smiles brightly at Eskel and offers her hand.

He doesn’t know what to say to that, taken off guard by the thought that Jaskier would take the time to tell his friends about Eskel. He takes her hand, which is soft and warm, but surprisingly strong. “A pleasure.”

“We were just on our way to the tavern around the corner,” Jaskier says. “If you’d like to join us when you’re done here.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“It wouldn’t be an intrusion at all. Your farm was my next stop.” Jaskier’s smile is warm and a little hopeful.

Eskel thinks about his plans for the brothel. This will be his last chance for a bed partner until the market next month. But there’s nothing a whore can do to him that will make him feel the way Jaskier’s smile does. “I’d love to.”

And when he’s done at the market and joins Jaskier and Triss in the tavern, he realizes immediately that it was the right decision. He’s still not sure if Jaskier and Triss are sleeping together— they share the easy affection of two people who have known each other for a long time— but he discovers that he doesn’t really care. Triss is a delight. She’s the former court mage of Temeria, which leads Eskel to wonder if Jaskier has any friends who can’t topple kingdoms with a word. She’s full of interesting stories, and seems just as interested in Eskel’s comparatively mundane tales about goats.

And then, while Eskel is telling her about Lil Bleater’s latest escapade, Jaskier’s hand settles on Eskel’s knee. Eskel immediately loses the thread of what he was saying. Besides Triss’s quick handshake earlier, no one has touched Eskel since Jaskier fell asleep with his head on Eskel’s chest months ago. Jaskier’s hands are warm and his fingers are long and strong as they begin to gently caress Eskel’s knee. Eskel tries not to think of what Jaskier could do with those fingers if he would just slide his hand up Eskel’s thigh…

Triss leans forward. “So she ended up in your neighbor’s granary?”

Eskel clears his throat. “And it’s not the first time.”

So he keeps talking, trying to pretend that the whole world hasn’t narrowed down to the warmth of Jaskier’s hand and the caress of his fingers.

***

“I _adore_ him,” Triss whispers to Jaskier outside the tavern later that afternoon. Eskel is hitching his donkey back up to her cart, murmuring to her as he strokes her ears.

Jaskier can’t take his eyes off Eskel. He knew he missed him this winter, but he didn’t realize how much until he saw him again. “So do I.”

“I can see that.” Triss squeezes his arm. “Don’t fuck this up like you did with that duchess. And the countess. And the—”

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware of what you all think of my romantic entanglements. Thank you, Triss.” Jaskier falls silent as Eskel approaches them.

“I should head back to the farm, so I can at least make most of the journey before nightfall,” Eskel says. “It was good to see you, Jask, and nice to meet you, Triss.”

“I’ll accompany you.” Jaskier speaks without thinking, because he knows the kind of dangers that lurk on the roads between Gors Velen and Ashling Grove, especially after nightfall. “If that’s okay with you, of course.”

Eskel’s throat bobs as his gaze flickers to Triss. “I don’t want to ruin your plans for the evening.”

“My only plans for the evening are to see you safely back home,” Jaskier says.

“You’ll be doing me a favor by taking him off my hands, Eskel.” Triss elbows Jaskier in the side. “An afternoon was more than enough.”

Jaskier clasps his hand to his chest in mock offense. “You’ve been spending far too much time with Yennefer, my dear, and it’s really starting to show.”

Her eyes twinkle. “Just like I can always tell when you’ve been spending too much time with Geralt.”

“Oh now honestly, that’s just uncalled for.”

Triss laughs and Jaskier exchanges smiles with Eskel. Jaskier can still smell traces of arousal on Eskel. Putting his hand on Eskel’s knee was a gamble, but from the way Eskel smelled, it was entirely worth it. Jaskier wonders where else Eskel would be willing to let Jaskier put his hands.

 _You need to wait for him to make the first move,_ he reminds himself. _You don’t want to ruin this._

So they say their goodbyes to Triss and start back on the road to Ashling Grove. With the sun low in the sky, the day has grown chilly, and Jaskier is glad for the heavy fur-lined cloak he stole from Yennefer. Holding Pegasus’s reins, he walks side by side with Eskel with the donkey and cart led behind them.

“I like Triss,” Eskel says. “She’s nice.”

“Triss is one of the kindest people I know and one of my dearest friends. She saved Geralt’s life oh, maybe thirty years ago, after he nearly got himself killed by a striga in Vizima.”

“You're sure I didn't ruin your plans?”

“My plans were to spend an afternoon drinking and gossiping, so there was nothing for you to ruin. If anything, you made my day better.” Jaskier gives him a sidelong look. “Triss and I aren’t lovers. She’s like a sister.”

“Oh.” Eskel’s face turns an alarming shade of purple. “I wasn’t…”

“If you were interested, I could put in a good word.”

Eskel makes a little choking noise. “Thanks, but she’s not… I’m not…”

Jaskier takes pity on him. “I’m right where I want to be, Eskel.”

“Oh,” Eskel says. “Good.”

Jaskier would dearly like to think of something to say, but his mind is blank. “Did you have a good winter?” he finally asks.

“Quiet,” Eskel says. “I missed you.”

He immediately looks mortified, like he’s said more than he intended, but Jaskier doesn’t give him the chance to take it back.

“I missed you too,” Jaskier says. “It was a long winter without you, even if I love my family. You would like them.”

“Even Lambert?”

“Even Lambert,” Jaskier says. “Maybe you’ll meet them someday.”

“Maybe," Eskel says. “You and Mavis are the only visitors I ever get, so without you, it was a lonely winter. Besides going into town once in a while, it was just me and the goats.”

“Lil Bleater has enough personality for ten people.”

“That she does.” Eskel looks down at the ground. “It’s good to have you back, though. Not that—”

“It’s good to be back, Eskel,” Jaskier says firmly, because as adorable as it is to watch Eskel blush and trip over his words, Jaskier doesn’t want him to have any doubt in his mind that Jaskier wants to be here with him.

They continue on their journey in companionable silence. They’re less than an hour from Ashling Grove when Jaskier hears the crunch of footsteps coming towards him. He reaches out to put a hand on Eskel’s chest, stopping him. The night has turned dark and Jaskier stares into the darkened woods, listening.

“What is it?” Eskel asks in a soft voice.

“Six heartbeats, all human,” Jaskier says. “Do you have a weapon?”

Eskel nods and draws a knife out from under his coat.

“Good,” Jaskier says, though he hopes Eskel won’t have to use it.

That hope fades when he looks around and finds half a dozen bandits slipping out of the woods. Bandits are common in Velen; Jaskier encounters at least one band of them nearly every time he’s in the area. But he’s used to the bandits that are fool enough to attack a witcher being half-starved and desperate. These men neither look starved nor desperate; they fan out around Eskel and Jaskier with the practiced ease of people who have done this many times and know exactly what they’re doing. Two of them have crossbows, one of which is pointed at Eskel, the other at Jaskier.

“Coming from Gors Velen, boys?” the bandit closest to them, a bearded man with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, says. “From the looks of that empty cart, I’d say you had a good day at the market. I bet that coin purse is heavy. Why don’t you let us help you with it?”

It’s dark enough that they may not have noticed that Jaskier is a witcher. He worries that if he reveals this fact, they’ll start firing arrows. With a vulnerable human standing next to him, he can’t risk that.

“That’s not necessary, gentlemen,” Jaskier says. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. The money we made at the market has already been spent on ale and whores.”

“Jaskier,” Eskel says in a low voice.

“Is that so?” the leader asks. He gestures and both archers turn their crossbows on Jaskier. “Those are some fine-looking swords. Why don’t you drop them?”

“I don’t think I will.” Jaskier draws his steel sword. He knows the look of men who won’t hesitate to slit their throats. He and Eskel could hand over every crown they have and these men would most likely kill them for sport. Jaskier hates to think of what could have happened if Eskel had run into them on his own without Jaskier here.

“I think he’s a witcher,” one of the men behind them whispers and one of the archers jerks in surprise, releasing a crossbow bolt. But instead of flying at Jaskier, it goes right at Eskel. Jaskier knocks the bolt out of the air with his sword and lunges.

The archers are first priority, especially if they’re skittish enough to send crossbow bolts flying accidentally. He runs the closest archer— the one who almost shot Eskel— through the belly. His sword isn’t even out of the man when he hears the battle cry of another one of the bandits rushing towards him. Jaskier jerks his sword out of the dead archer and pivots on his heel, slashing the second bandit across the chest. At the same time, he casts Igni at the second archer. The man howls in pain as he’s engulfed in flames and stumbles backwards into one of his fellows. Both bandits fall to the ground as the stink of burning flesh fills the air.

Four down, two to go. Jaskier looks around to see one of the bandits fleeing into the trees. He doesn’t give chase. Instead, he focuses on the leader, who has Eskel backed against the tree. Eskel is holding his own admirably— Jaskier can tell he was a soldier from how deftly he handles a blade— but his knife is no match for the bandit’s short sword. The tip of the bandit’s blade catches him on the chin and Eskel lets out a pained cry.

Jaskier sees red.

He closes the gap between him and the bandit in two strides and fists his hand in the man’s hair.

“That was a mistake,” he growls in the bandit’s ear before slitting his throat. As the body crumples at his feet, he looks up at Eskel.

Eskel is breathing heavily, one hand cupping his bleeding chin. His pupils are enormous.

“Are you alright?” Jaskier starts towards him, then remembers that Eskel just watched him cut through five men with ease. If Eskel is afraid of him now, Jaskier wouldn’t blame him.

But the smell of Eskel’s fear is fading as Jaskier draws closer. “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

“Can I see?” Jaskier asks hoarsely.

Eskel nods and Jaskier steps forward to cup Eskel’s face in his hands. The wound is indeed no more than a scratch. It could have been so much worse, if Jaskier hadn’t been here.

“Are you okay?” Eskel asks, voice strangled.

“Not a scratch. Are you sure—”

“I’m fine, Jask. Thank you. That’s twice now you’ve saved my life.”

Jaskier wipes away a smear of Eskel’s blood with his thumb. He can’t decipher the look on his friend’s face, can’t figure out whether Eskel’s heart is hammering from leftover adrenaline or Jaskier’s proximity. “I told you once that I would never let anything happen to you. I meant it.”

Eskel’s breathing starts to come faster. For a moment, they stand there, watching each other. Then Eskel closes the distance between them.

The kiss isn’t what Jaskier was expecting from shy, sweet Eskel. It’s all teeth and tongue, hot and insistent. Jaskier is instantly lost in the taste of Eskel, the smell of him, the feel of him gripping the front of Jaskier’s armor. Eskel stumbles backwards, pulling Jaskier with him, and they end up with Jaskier pinning Eskel against a tree trunk, their bodies pressed flush together. Jaskier can feel the evidence of Eskel’s eagerness pressed against his hip and gods, that’s a lot of eagerness.

Jaskier remembers abruptly that they’re standing in the middle of a fairly well-traveled road with five dead bodies behind them. Reluctantly, he pulls away.

Eskel blinks at him, looking dazed. “Sorry,” he says.

Jaskier brushes the faintest of kisses across his lips. “You have nothing to be sorry for, dear heart,” he says. “But I need to get you home to a proper bed.”

Eskel’s pupils dilate with need. “A bed would be good.”

He smells deliciously like arousal and his bed is very, very far away. Jaskier closes his eyes and reminds himself of the dead bodies. “Come on.”

They make the trip back to Ashling Grove in record time.

***

As soon as they get back to Eskel’s house, Eskel pushes the door closed behind him and turns to face Jaskier. The witcher is watching him with a hungry expression that sends a shiver up his spine.

Eskel licks his lips, suddenly nervous. The kiss in the woods was pure impulse, borne of the adrenaline of the fight and the thrill of having Jaskier so close to him. But now, standing in his house only feet away from his bed, the reality of what’s about to happen starts to hit him.

Jaskier’s expression sobers. “Talk to me, Eskel.”

Eskel drags his gaze away from Jaskier’s mouth. “Do you want this?”

“Do I want this?” Jaskier takes a tentative step towards him. “I’ve wanted this since the first night you let me stay here.”

Eskel blinks at him. “Why?”

“Oh, dear heart, the fact that you have to ask me that question breaks my heart.” Jaskier steps forward and puts his hands on Eskel’s hips. “Eskel, you are without a doubt one of the kindest, sweetest men I’ve ever had the pleasure of befriending. I was lost the first time you smiled at me. You love your goats and you’re adorable with your nieces and you make some of the best cheese I’ve ever tasted. And it doesn’t help that you have a truly exceptional ass.”

Eskel lets out a surprised little laugh.

“I want you in any way you’ll have me,” Jaskier says, and his expression is so warm that Eskel believes him without reservations. “Say the word, and we can just be friends. I’ll go to bed and never speak of this again. That being said, I would really like to fuck you.”

Eskel’s body certainly likes that idea, if the tightness in his breeches is any indication. He wishes he could think of something witty or seductive to say. But all he can think of is, “Yes.”

Jaskier closes the gap between them in an instant, his mouth finding Eskel’s with single-minded focus. It’s intoxicating, being kissed like that. Eskel can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this. He doesn’t even realize he’s backing up until the backs of his legs hit his bed. He lets himself fall backwards and Jaskier comes with him, arms bracketing Eskel, caging him in. Eskel tugs at the witcher’s armor impatiently.

Jaskier chuckles against his mouth. “Eager,” he murmurs.

“I’ve only been waiting for this for a fucking year.” Suddenly, Eskel doesn’t care about being suave. He just wants the damn armor off. He fumbles at the buckles until Jaskier takes over, the witcher’s clever fingers peeling away the armor in record time.

“You should have said something,” Jaskier says, eyes never leaving Eskel’s face. “I was waiting for you to make the first move.”

Eskel stares up at him, gobsmacked. “Why?”

“I knew you wanted me.” Jaskier smiles, seeming almost sheepish. “But there’s a difference between wanting me and _wanting_ me, you know?”

Eskel doesn’t know. He’s too busy focusing on Jaskier slowly peeling his shirt off to pay attention to much else. “I was waiting for you. I didn’t think you would want me back.”

Jaskier cocks his head to the side. “How could I not?”

Eskel has nothing to say to that, because all he can do is stare. He’s seen Jaskier shirtless, but it takes his breath away every time. Jaskier is gorgeous with his broad shoulders, the dark hair covering his chest, the muscles in his narrow waist. Eskel wants to touch, but he doesn’t know where to start. His mouth goes dry as Jaskier shimmies out of his pants. One glance tells him that Jaskier is equally pretty everywhere.

Jaskier’s smile is downright wolfish. “You are wearing far too many clothes, dear heart.”

Eskel bobs his head and begins frantically peeling off his clothes, not even bothering to try to make it seductive. He kicks off his boots and his breeches and pulls off his shirt, leaving him in only his smallclothes. Jaskier looks him up and down with such naked want on his face that Eskel feels his face go hot. Jaskier grins.

“I love it when you do that,” he murmurs.

“When I do what?”

“Blush. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I never used to blush this much,” Eskel grumbles. “It’s all your fault.”

“This is something that I’ll happily take credit for.” Jaskier leans down to kiss Eskel’s jaw, trailing his lips down the side of his throat. “Gods, Eskel, you are so fucking gorgeous.”

And Eskel believes him.

Jaskier kisses his way over Eskel’s body hungrily, mouth hot and frantic against Eskel’s skin. He kisses his way across Eskel’s shoulders and chest, gently raking his fingers through the dusting of brown hair on his chest and flicking his tongue over Eskel’s nipples experimentally. Eskel gasps as Jaskier kisses his way downwards, nuzzling into the slight softness of his belly. Jaskier’s hands grip Eskel’s thighs.

“These need to come off.” Jaskier nods to Eskel’s smallclothes.

Eskel has forgotten how to speak, so he just nods.

Jaskier peels off Eskel’s smallclothes reverently, eyes fastened on Eskel’s cock. When Jaskier’s hand wraps around his length, thumb flicking over the head, Eskel lets out a low whine.

“Turn over,” Jaskier says softly, withdrawing his hand.

Eskel lifts his hips, desperately wanting Jaskier’s hands on him again.

Jaskier’s lips twitch. “Turn over, love. I promise, I’ll take good care of you.”

Eskel clambers to comply and Jaskier guides him into a kneeling position with his head down on the bed and his ass sticking in the air. Eskel holds his breath as Jaskier presses against him. He can feel the length of Jaskier’s erection against his hip. Jaskier brushes a feather light kiss over the back of Eskel’s neck, then kisses his way down Eskel’s spine to his lower back. Eskel shivers when he feels the tickle of Jaskier’s breath on his ass. 

“Is this okay?” Jaskier asks hoarsely, his hands squeezing Eskel’s cheeks.

“Yes,” Eskel manages to choke out, unable to form coherent sentences.

Nothing can prepare him for the feeling of the first swipe of Jaskier’s tongue along his crease. He’s read about this is some of the more interesting books he’s managed to get his hands on in the last couple of years, but no one has ever done it for him. He gasps as Jaskier swipes his tongue again. The tip presses against Eskel’s hole. It’s a tiny thing, but it feels incredible.

“Alright?” Jaskier asks in a low voice and Eskel nods.

Jaskier begins licking in earnest, his tongue hot and eager against Eskel’s hole. One finger slips inside Eskel and he can only press his face into the pillow and clutch his sheets for dear life. One of his hands finds his cock and begins to stroke it in time with the flicks of Jaskier’s tongue. Jaskier growls, low and animalistic, and it might be the sexiest sound anyone has ever made. Eskel’s legs are shaking so hard with pleasure that they nearly give way.

“Jaskier,” he manages to say, even though his brain doesn’t want to form words right now. “Jaskier, you’re killing me.”

Jaskier makes a sound that might be a laugh, but he doesn’t stop. His finger gives a deft little twist, hitting _that_ spot, and Eskel makes a noise he’s never heard himself make before. Jaskier slips a second finger in, slicked with spit, and it burns, but the pain is secondary to the marvelous twin feelings of those fingers thrusting inside him and that tongue circling his rim. With a cry, Eskel comes in his hand, mind going blank with pleasure as he collapses into the bed. He can only lie there, breathing heavily, for a moment.

Jaskier presses a kiss to the swell of his ass. “You are incredible,” he murmurs.

Somehow, Eskel finds his voice. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Jaskier nips at the skin he just kissed. Eskel shivers. “You did plenty and you did it perfectly. Do you have oil?”

Eskel fumbles on his bedside table and finds the tiny bottle he keeps hidden behind his pile of books. Jaskier’s eyebrows raise when he sees that it’s nearly empty.

“You take my fingers so well,” Jaskier says conversationally as he slicks up his fingers and his cock. “Do you do this to yourself?”

Eskel nods, fascinated by the bob of Jaskier’s cock. It’s as unfairly pretty as the rest of him, long and slender with a tuft of dark curls at the base. “Yes.”

“With your fingers, or a toy?”

Eskel swallows. “Both.”

Jaskier grins, looking almost wolfish. “And what do you think about when you do it?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“I wouldn’t be presumptuous enough to assume—”

“Be presumptuous.”

Jaskier chuckles and slips a finger back inside Eskel. Even though he’s already come, his cock gives an interested twitch. Jaskier takes his time opening Eskel up, murmuring encouraging words into Eskel’s skin and peppering his back with kisses. It’s… unbearably sweet. Eskel is used to sex being a transaction, quick and businesslike. It’s been a long time since someone touched him like this, with utmost care. It’s been even longer since someone whispered sweet words in his ear. Eskel didn’t realize that was something he craved until now.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Jaskier says. “How long I’ve wanted you. Gods, Eskel, you’re so lovely.”

“You keep saying that.” Eskel rocks back into Jaskier’s hand, feeling the stretch of the three fingers inside him. He’s not going to come again— not yet, at least— but it still feels incredible.

“Because it’s true.” Jaskier presses a kiss to the center of his back. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Eskel has never been more ready.

Jaskier’s cock slides into him, inch by torturous inch, and Eskel groans in pleasure. When the witcher begins to fuck him in earnest, Eskel closes his eyes and rolls his hips in time with Jaskier’s thrusts, which causes Jaskier to make a little gasping sound. Jaskier feels perfect inside, so much better than Eskel’s fingers or the toy he uses when he needs something more. When Jaskier comes with an almost-musical groan, they both collapse on the bed, breathing heavily. Jaskier is still inside of Eskel; he can feel the witcher’s cock softening inside him. When Jaskier puts his arms around him and pulls Eskel against his chest, Eskel turns his face to nuzzle into the curve of Jaskier’s throat.

“That was…” Eskel can’t even think of the words. Nothing he can think of encompasses what he’s feeling right now.

“I know.” Jaskier presses a kiss to Eskel’s jaw. “I can’t believe we waited so long to do that.”

“It was worth the wait.”

“I always knew you would be.”

Eskel snuggles closer against him. “Give me a half an hour or so, and I might be able to go again.”

“Good.” Jaskier flashes a wicked smile. “Because I’m nowhere close to finished with you.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have been yelling at me to let them kiss since Chapter 1 (so most of you) I hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> While I originally intended for there to be no update schedule on this fic, my subconscious seems to have decided otherwise, since I've now updated the last three chapters on Mondays. So from now on, we're just going to go with a Monday update schedule!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jaskier’s voice is rich and lovely as it rings across the town square. Standing there in an emerald green doublet that looks far finer than anything one would expect a witcher to wear and strumming his lute, he could pass for an ordinary human bard. The sunlight brings out the white streaks in his hair, which fall in such a way that they hide his yellow eye from view. He’s smiling, clearly soaking up the energy of the dancing couples and the increasingly enthusiastic onlookers.  
>  Eskel can’t stop staring at him. For a moment, he gets a glimpse of another Jaskier in another life, one who got to travel the Continent and sing songs about love and loss instead of fighting monsters. The thought of what could have been makes Eskel unbearably sad. He imagines a Jaskier with soft hands and an unscarred back and the innocent eyes of someone who has never seen bloodshed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all so much for all your lovely comments and kudos on the last chapter. I'm so glad so many of you are enjoying this as much as I'm enjoying writing it!
> 
> Thank you to KHansen for betaing.

When Eskel wakes up, there’s an arm around his waist and lips pressed against his jawline. He opens his eyes and finds his house bright with morning sunlight and Jaskier smiling at him, hair tousled and eyes soft with sleep.

“Good morning,” Jaskier murmurs.

Eskel finds himself smiling back stupidly. “Morning.” And then he hears an indignant bleat outside the door and some of the sleepiness in his mind clears away. “Fuck, I should have fed the goats hours ago.”

Jaskier’s arm tightens around his waist. “They’ll be fine.”

“Lil Bleater has probably staged a coup at this point. The goats will be at the door with pitchforks and torches within minutes.”

“I’ll fight Lil Bleater for your honor.” Jaskier buries his face in the side of Eskel’s neck.

Eskel chuckles. “I don’t think you’ll win that battle.”

“I won’t, but what worthier cause to perish for than love?”

Eskel’s breath hitches in his throat. He wasn’t expecting the word “love” to be thrown around so casually, like loving him is the most natural thing in the world. There’s nothing else to do but lean over to kiss Jaskier. They kiss for a long time, slow and sweet, until another bleat from outside reminds Eskel that he still hasn’t fed the goats. With a rueful chuckle, Jaskier pulls away from him.

“What happened to be willing to perish on the battlefield for love?” Eskel asks.

Jaskier nuzzles at Eskel’s throat. “Trust me, you’re going to want me alive later. I never got my mouth on that gorgeous cock of yours last night. That’s something I want to fix as soon as possible.”

Eskel feeds the goats in record time.

***

Jaskier spends three days on Eskel’s farm, most of it in bed. He learns every inch of Eskel’s body— where Eskel likes to be touched, where he likes to be kissed, what will make him arch his back and moan Jaskier’s name. This is always Jaskier’s favorite part of any new love affair, learning what his lover likes, exploring them. But he’s never had anyone look at him the way Eskel does when Jaskier brings him pleasure, with such open affection and awe in his eyes.

It’s always hard to leave Eskel, but it’s doubly hard this time. Eskel says goodbye with a long, lingering kiss.

“You’ll be back?” he asks.

“Of course.” Jaskier murmurs into his neck, memorizing the feel of Eskel pressed against him. “I can never stay away from you for long. I love you.”

Eskel makes a soft, punched-out noise of surprise. When he replies, “I love you too,” his voice sounds a bit choked.

Every time Jaskier leaves Eskel, it gets harder. Eventually, he realizes, he won’t be able to bring himself to leave at all.

***

Eskel doesn’t see Jaskier for over a month. Before, that wouldn’t have been a concern. After all, he knows that Jaskier travels the Continent. He could be anywhere from Kovir to Nazair. But after the three days they spent together, Eskel can’t stop himself from worrying. What if he wasn’t what Jaskier wanted? What if all those months they spent yearning for each other, he was a disappointment? What if now that Jaskier has gotten what he wanted, he doesn’t plan on coming back?

But every time Eskel finds his thoughts going in that direction, he remembers the way Jaskier murmured, “I love you” in his ear and his fears are assuaged. At the end of the day, Eskel has faith in Jaskier. He knows that Jaskier would never have told him that he loves him if he didn’t mean it. He wouldn’t toy with Eskel like that.

Still, it’s a relief when one day, he’s on his way back from making cheese in the spring house when he hears a familiar voice say, “Those are not for you, miss. Those are for Eskel. No, don’t look at me like that. Go over there and eat grass with Dandelion. Look at Dandelion over there, a model of good goat behavior. Be more like Dandelion.”

Eskel does not run, because that would make him look foolish. But he walks very quickly, rounding the corner to see Jaskier coming out of the barn, holding a handful of books aloft so that Lil Bleater can’t get to them. Lil Bleater is dancing around his legs, bleating merrily at the promise of an imminent feast.

Jaskier looks up at Eskel with sad eyes. “Save me from the vicious beast.”

“No one can save you now.” Eskel goes to kiss him. As soon as their lips meet, he feels some of the tension he didn’t even realize he’d been carrying for the past month leave him. Jaskier is here. He’s safe. Eskel hasn’t lost him.

“I missed you,” Jaskier murmurs.

Eskel leans his forehead against Jaskier’s. “Missed you too.”

“If you want to go inside, I have some ideas for a proper reunion.”

“Oh?” Eskel grins as one of Jaskier’s hands squeezes his ass. “And what are those?”

“Well, let me show you.”

***

Later, when Eskel is lying in bed, sore and sweaty, but satisfied, Jaskier props himself up on his elbows and selects one of the books from the stack.

“Got these off a viscountess in Rinde,” he tells Eskel. “Poor thing had no idea her secret beau was an incubus. She’d been in poor health for years and no one could figure out why.”

“So you took her books as payment?”

“Didn’t seem right to take her coin. The dear had been through enough. Now, let’s see.” Jaskier brandishes the book with a flourish. The cover displays a golden haired girl in a floral bonnet swooning in a field of wildflowers while two men are silhouetted behind her. “ _The Shepherdess’s Flower._ The back cover says it’s a story of desire, destiny, and dastardly deeds.”

“More dastardly than the unnecessary alliteration?”

“We shall see.” Clearing his throat, Jaskier flips to a random page and begins to read.

“Normally, books start at the beginning.”

“Oh, I read the beginning last night. Boring stuff. Beautiful, dirt-poor shepherdess is wooed by the local lord’s vicious son. Her parents force her to accept his hand, but her heart is stolen by the brigand who accosts her betrothed’s carriage on the road and only steals a single kiss from her.”

“Doesn’t sound like a very effective brigand.”

“I imagine the book will end with a career change. Now, are you going to keep talking, or are you going to let me read?”

Eskel nips at his shoulder in retribution, which earns him a throaty chuckle.

“Let’s see.” Jaskier licks his thumb and flips the page. “Oh, this is a good part. _Sliding his hands under her creamy thighs, he hoisted her up and pinned her against the tree. She arched her back as one hand cupped her supple breast—_ ”

“Wait, how many hands does he have?” Eskel asks. “Because if he’s using two to hold her up and one to cup her breast, then he has one extra.”

“He has at least four, because he’s also about to slip a finger into her blossoming flower.”

“Four hands. You think he’d be a better brigand then.”

Jaskier looks Eskel up and down. “Lots you can do with four hands.”

“You’re doing just fine with two.”

“Oh, just fine? That’s your review? _Fine_?” Jaskier tosses the book aside and rolls Eskel over to prove just how good he is with only two hands.

They don’t get any more reading done that night.

***

Jaskier doesn’t mean to return to Eskel’s farm as quickly as he does, but he gets held up on his way out of Velen. Children are going missing in a small town just south of Gors Velen. The culprit turns out to be human, not that that stops Jaskier from exacting justice. 

He’s barely to the next town when he gets flagged down by a woman complaining that something is breaking into her chicken coop at night and stealing chickens. That culprit is a godling, who agrees to move on and stop bothering the locals when Jaskier gives her some jerky and lets her pet Pegasus. 

He continues to travel south, picking up small contracts along the way and filling his pockets with coin and his saddlebags with books and flowers to bring back to Eskel. He’s almost out of Velen when he stops to take care of a drowner problem in a well. When he goes to collect his payment from the town, he’s surprised to see them decorating for Belleteyn. There’s wood gathered in the town center for the bonfire and a maypole hunt with flowers.

“It’s Belleteyn already?” he asks the alderman who hands him his coin.

The man seems puzzled by the question. After all, what would a witcher want with a celebration of love and fertility? “Day after next.”

Instead of continuing south towards Cintra, Jaskier turns his horse around and heads north.

***

“You want to go to a Belleteyn festival?” Eskel isn’t sure why he’s surprised. After all, Belleteyn means food, drink, music and sex— all things that he knows Jaskier to be very interested in.

“Does Ashling Grove have one?” Jaskier’s eyes are bright with almost child-like excitement.

“Of course.” Not that Eskel has been to it in years. The last time he celebrated Belleteyn was the year Mavis married Piotr, only months before Jakub joined the army and their family fell apart. The day is a blur of ale, sunshine, and music in his memory, though he does remember kissing the butcher’s green-eyed son, Simon, behind the tavern. Simon is married with five children now. He never meets Eskel’s eyes when they see each other in town.

Some of Jaskier’s enthusiasm seems to dim. “You hate the idea.”

“No!” Eskel says quickly. “I don’t hate it. I just… I haven’t been in years.”

“It’s a celebration of love.” Jaskier reaches out to cup Eskel’s scarred cheek in his hand. “And I have quite a lot of love to celebrate this year.”

Eskel doesn’t take much convincing after that.

The townsfolk of Ashling Grove stare when Eskel walks into town side-by-side with a witcher. Eskel isn’t sure what they find more confusing: that Eskel is here, that he has company, or that that company is a witcher. Under the sudden scrutiny, Eskel wants to keep his head down to avoid the curious gazes of the people he once considered his friends and neighbors. But it’s impossible to keep a low profile walking next to Jaskier, who throws a wink at the girl handing out flower crowns, causing her to blush and giggle, and snags two flower crowns from her. He keeps the one threaded with blue flowers for himself and places the one threaded with red and yellow flowers on top of Eskel’s head.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs and Eskel feels a wide, stupid grin split his face.

Belleteyn is just as Eskel remembers, with ropes of flowers draped from doorways and a bonfire in the center of town, crackling merrily against the blue sky. There is a fiddler attempting to play a dancing tune, but he’s too deep in his cups and keeps nodding off. The couples who are dancing along to his music are heckling him. He wakes up long enough to shout back insults about their sexual prowess or lack thereof before his chin drops to his chest again and he’s snoring.

“You!” A freckle-faced, stocky boy that Eskel doesn’t recognize catches sight of Jaskier. Eskel feels Jaskier tense next to him, until the boy says, “Can you play that lute?”

Jaskier has his lute case slung over his back in lieu of his swords. “I wouldn’t bring my swords to a _festival,_ ” he said, sounding mildly scandalized when Eskel expressed surprise that he was leaving most of his weapons at the farm, save for a single knife. Jaskier’s hand travels to the strap of his lute case, looking surprised, but pleased.

“That’s a witcher,” the girl the boy is dancing with hisses.

The boy shrugs and jerks his thumb at the fiddler. “Can’t be worse than this whoreson.”

Jaskier smiles. “A heartening show of faith, thank you. I would be honored to perform for your lovely town.”

Eskel just manages to stifle a snort.

Jaskier goes to stand near the unconscious fiddler and pulls out his lute. Eskel is unaccountably nervous. He knows that Jaskier is good, but he also knows that this audience will be ready to take any minor slip up as a sign that witchers are unfeeling, soulless beasts. A small crowd is gathering as people stop their merriment to witness the spectacle of a witcher playing the lute. Some people are smirking behind their hands, or shaking their heads. Eskel feels a jolt of protectiveness for Jaskier, but his lover doesn’t even seem to notice. And as soon as Jaskier begins to sing, the smirks are wiped away.

Jaskier’s voice is rich and lovely as it rings across the town square. Standing there in an emerald green doublet that looks far finer than anything one would expect a witcher to wear and strumming his lute, he could pass for an ordinary human bard. The sunlight brings out the white streaks in his hair, which falls in such a way that they hide his yellow eye from view. He’s smiling, clearly soaking up the energy of the dancing couples and the increasingly enthusiastic onlookers.

Eskel can’t stop staring at him. For a moment, he gets a glimpse of another Jaskier in another life, one who got to travel the Continent and sing songs about love and loss instead of fighting monsters. The thought of what could have been makes Eskel unbearably sad. He imagines a Jaskier with soft hands and an unscarred back and the innocent eyes of someone who has never seen bloodshed.

And then Jaskier meets his gaze and his smile widens. Eskel feels his heart do a funny little flutter in his chest. Jaskier watches him as he finishes his song, which shouldn’t feel as romantic as it does, since he’s singing a bawdy tavern tune that has more euphemisms for cocks than any song should. But as Jaskier transitions into a slower, sweeter song, he doesn’t take his eyes off of Eskel.

It’s the sad, slow song in Elder that he sang for Eskel over a year ago now, the first time Eskel ever heard him sing. Hearing it again makes goosebumps prickle on Eskel’s arms. It seems at odds with the festive merriment of the day, but the onlookers don’t seem to mind. Eskel watches as the dancers hold each other a little closer. Old men reach out to take their wives’ hands. Women dab at teary eyes. Jaskier’s voice is so heavy with loss and longing that for a moment, he no longer looks like the soft-handed court bard. Eskel can see every one of his many, many years in his eyes.

When the song comes to an end, there’s a heavy moment of quiet before Jaskier slides right back into an upbeat love ditty and the spell is broken. Chatter and dancing resume. But Eskel can’t stop watching Jaskier, because how could he?

He didn’t know it was possible to love someone this much until this moment.

The fiddler eventually rouses himself and Jaskier’s performance ends, much to the consternation of the crowd. Eskel is shocked at the warm reception he and Jaskier get in the tavern. They have more mugs of ale set in front of them than they can possibly drink. A couple of the older men in town, the old war veterans who haven’t wanted much to do with Eskel since he got branded a coward, come over to talk to Jaskier about the monsters he’s killed and the men they’ve killed. Eskel learns that Jaskier can get anyone to open up, even flinty-eyed soldiers who have seen far too much death in their lives.

Jaskier’s knee is pressed against Eskel’s thigh under the table all night. He never takes his flower crown off. Later, those flowers are crushed against the pillow as Eskel rides Jaskier. His own flower crown keeps slipping down into his eyes, until he laughingly rips it off and drops it on Jaskier’s head. Jaskier looks up at Eskel with lust-drunk eyes, a halo of yellow, red, and blue flowers around his head, and for the second time that day, Eskel thinks he’s the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

And after, when Jaskier has his head on Eskel’s chest, where he likes to sleep so he can hear Eskel’s heartbeat, he murmurs into his skin, “Thank you.”

Eskel is half-asleep, carding his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “For what?”

“I know that wasn’t something you would have done on your own. So thank you for doing it for me.” Jaskier nuzzles at Eskel’s pec. “People don’t normally want me at Belleteyn. They think it’s bad luck to have a witcher there.”

Eskel can’t think of anyone better suited to be at a celebration of love and life than Jaskier. “People are fucking idiots.”

“Sometimes. But mostly they’re just scared.”

“Everyone’s scared. Doesn’t give them the right to be a jackass to you.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Jaskier says softly. “But you know, I don’t much care what they think. Not when I have you.”

***

Jaskier spends the next month and a half traveling through Kovir, Poviss, and Creyden, taking odd jobs. Kovir and Poviss were hit by a plague over the winter and there are necrophage nests everywhere. Jaskier has always hated necrophages— the smell is always awful and one bite will leave him incapacitated for days— but it’s easy coin. And the more coin he makes, the more he can justify returning to Eskel’s farm.

The next time he returns to Eskel’s farm is around Midsummer, when he drops by on the last day of Mavis and her daughters’ visit. Liesl is two now and stumbles along after Gretta and Amelia on chubby little legs. Jaskier lets Amelia and Gretta take turns riding Pegasus, delighting in their joy. For his part, Pegasus is only too happy to let the girls ride on his back, if it means more sugar cubes and carrots. Mavis seems less frightened of Jaskier than she was last year, though she shoots Eskel a lot of significant looks when she doesn’t think Jaskier will notice.

After Mavis and the girls leave, Jaskier spends two more days with Eskel. He has a new scar on his thigh from where a ghoul’s claws tore through his pants leg. As soon as Eskel notices it, he starts fussing over it.

“It doesn’t even look like you stitched this up,” he says sternly.

Jaskier shrugs, smiling down at the top of his lover’s head. “I was otherwise occupied with being unconscious. Necrophage venom is a bitch.”

Eskel doesn’t seem reassured, oddly enough. “You keep this up and I’ll be following after you on hunts with a sewing kit.”

“You need to work on your threats, my love.”

Eskel presses a kiss to the scar, his breath tickling Jaskier’s inner thigh, and neither of them are worried about ghouls after that.

***

By the time Jaskier returns to Eskel’s farm, it’s nearly Saovine and there’s a chill in the air. With a pang of regret, he realizes that this will likely be the last time he’s able to visit Eskel before the winter sets in. In a matter of weeks, he’ll need to start heading west towards Kaedwen in order to make it to the Blue Mountains before the first snows hit. And as much as he’s looking forward to seeing his brothers, the thought of a long winter without Eskel sounds unbearably lonely.

Lil Bleater trots out to see him.

“Why do I have a feeling you’re supposed to be in the stables, like a good little goat?”

She only bleats at him and starts chewing on his pants.

He sighs. “Well, I suppose you’re not on the roof.”

Like she knows what he’s saying, she looks up at the roof.

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Jaskier tells her. “Come on inside with me. How much trouble can you get up to in the house?”

It’s a gamble he may come to regret, but that will be a problem for later.

When Eskel answers the door, he’s wearing a heavy woolen sweater of a rich red color that Jaskier hasn’t seen before. He looks warm and cozy and when Jaskier sinks into his arms gratefully, he finds that Eskel feels as good as he looks.

“You’re back,” Eskel murmurs. Gods, he smells good, like grass and honey. Jaskier buries his face in the side of Eskel’s neck. “I was getting worried.”

“Sorry,” Jaskier murmurs. “Got held up by a rusalka. Nearly penniless earls should really be more suspicious when beautiful young women show up right after their wives’ mysterious deaths and are suddenly eager to marry them.”

“Well, when I inherit my earldom, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jaskier chuckles and burrows closer. He could stand here all day, pressed up against Eskel, surrounded by the familiar scent of his lover and…

There’s a clatter, followed by a groaned, “Fucking hell, Bleats!”

Oops. Jaskier clears his throat. “She forced me to bring her inside. She was going to get up to mischief otherwise.”

“Mischief? From Lil Bleater? Never.”

Jaskier helps Eskel prepare roast chicken and vegetables for dinner, though he’s having so much trouble dragging his eyes away from Eskel that he nearly chops off his own fingers a couple of times.

“I like the sweater,” he says. “Haven’t seen it before.”

“I don’t think you’ve been here when it’s this cold before,” Eskel says. “The sheep farmers next door made it for me.”

“Got to love the sheep farmers.” Jaskier runs his hand down Eskel’s side, reveling in the softness. “Maybe dinner could wait.”

Eskel snorts. “It’s just a sweater, Jaskier.”

“Yes, but I haven’t seen the person wearing the sweater in a long, long time.”

They don’t eat until very late that night.

***

When Jaskier wakes up the next morning, curled up in Eskel’s bed and surrounded by the scents of Eskel and sex, he’s alone. He lifts his head off the pillow and looks around until he finds Eskel standing at the hearth, which in of itself would not be an unusual sight to wake up to. No, what’s unusual is that Eskel is wearing the red sweater he was wearing the night before and nothing else. From under the hem of the sweater, the swell of Eskel’s ass is clearly visible, along with his muscular thighs and incredible prick.

Jaskier must make a noise, because Eskel turns and says, “Morning, Jask.” From the glint in his lover’s eyes, Jaskier can see that Eskel knows exactly what he’s doing. “Want some tea?”

Without a word, Jaskier slides out of bed, crosses the space between them, and wraps his arms around Eskel’s waist to lift the human man into the air. Eskel lets out a surprised bark of laughter as Jaskier carries him back to the bed. Jaskier deposits Eskel on the bed and climbs on top of him to straddle him.

Jaskier presses kisses to the side of Eskel’s neck, reveling in the hitch of Eskel’s breath and the sweet, musky scent of his arousal. “How long were you walking around in this sweater, waiting for me to wake up?”

Eskel turns his head to give Jaskier easier access as Jaskier sucks a bruise into his pulse point. “Too long. I was about to give up and put on pants.”

“Nope, no pants today. I won’t hear of it.” Jaskier slides his hands under Eskel’s sweater, over the soft skin of his belly and to the swell of his pecs. Eskel’s breath hitches again when Jaskier’s thumbs brush his nipples.

“Not very practical, wearing no pants all day.” Eskel’s voice is breathless.

“Only if I intended to let you out of bed, which I don’t.” Jaskier shifts to press a kiss to the skin right below Eskel’s belly button. He leaves a trail of kisses down, bypassing Eskel’s hardening cock to press his lips against Eskel’s inner thighs. Jaskier lavishes Eskel’s thighs with kisses, ignoring Eskel’s cock entirely as his lover squirms.

“Jaskier,” Eskel gasps.

Jaskier blinks up at him innocently. “Is there a problem, darling?”

“ _Jaskier._ ”

Jaskier flicks his tongue across the head of Eskel’s cock— causing him to gasp and arch his back— before he goes back to kissing Eskel’s thighs.

“Jaskier, please,” Eskel says in a choked voice.

Jaskier doesn’t have the heart to tease him any longer, so he grips Eskel’s hips and takes his cock in his mouth, swallowing it down as far as he can go— which, since witchers don’t have much of a gag reflex, is pretty damn far. Eskel makes the same gasping noise that he always makes when Jaskier is pleasuring him, sounding almost surprised. Jaskier sucks and teases with his tongue, releasing one of Eskel’s hips to cup his balls, gently rubbing them. He feels a hand in his hair and looks up to see Eskel looking down at him with such adoration that Jaskier aches with it.

When Eskel comes, Jaskier swallows down every drop and crawls up the bed to wrap Eskel up in his arms.

“Your turn,” Eskel murmurs.

“Not yet.” Jaskier tugs him closer, because even though his cock is hard and aching for the clench of Eskel’s ass or his mouth or even his hand, more pressing is the need to just hold him for a minute. Eskel is warm and cozy against him and Jaskier never wants to let him go.

He’s going to miss Eskel so damn much this winter, Jaskier realizes. For a moment, he considers asking Eskel to come with him to Kaer Morhen. It’s the same fantasy he entertained the winter before— Eskel snuggled against him during dinner, Eskel sharing his bed at night, Eskel laughing with his family. But now it’s all the more vivid now that he knows Eskel more intimately than he did last year.

But it’s just a fantasy. In reality, Eskel couldn’t leave his farm for an entire winter. He couldn’t even leave for a night, not as long as he doesn’t have any help.

Eskel nuzzles at his cheek. “What are you thinking about so seriously?”

Jaskier turns to capture Eskel’s mouth with his. “You,” he murmurs. “Always you.”

***

Jaskier lingers longer than he should, staying with Eskel for another two weeks, the longest he’s ever stayed. Eskel can’t bring himself to urge Jaskier to go, even though he knows the witcher is pushing it if he wants to reach the Blue Mountains before winter. Because a small, selfish part of Eskel wants Jaskier to stay. He’s not proud of the impulse— he knows how special winters at Kaer Morhen are to Jaskier— but he can’t shake the hope that Jaskier will roll over one morning and casually ask, “Why don’t I stay here with you for the winter, dear heart?”

But he never does and all too soon, Jaskier’s planned departure arrives. Eskel helps him saddle up Pegasus, taking the time to slip the sweet gelding one last sugar cube, and loads his bags with rations for the road.

“This is enough to keep me fed if I traveled from Metinna to Kovir and back,” Jaskier tells him, lips quirked in amusement.

Eskel shrugs. “You won’t have time to stop in any towns. I want to make sure you don’t starve.”

“Always taking care of me,” Jaskier says fondly.

“And then there’s this.” Eskel opens up one of Jaskier’s bags to show him Eskel’s red woolen sweater.

Jaskier is quiet for a moment, then says, “I can’t take this.”

“I have another one. I just thought you would like this one better because it’s red and because I wear it more often, so it will smell like me.” When Jaskier doesn’t respond, Eskel feels suddenly sheepish. “If you don’t want it, I’ll—”

Jaskier grabs the front of his coat and hauls him in for a kiss. “You sweet, wonderful man,” he says when they break apart. “I’m going to miss you so fucking much.”

 _”Then don’t go,”_ Eskel wants to say. Instead, he whispers, “I’ll be here when you get back.”

Jaskier brushes his lips over Eskel’s again. “As soon as the snows melt, I’ll come back. It will be the end of April, at the latest.”

The end of April seems heartbreakingly far away, but Eskel just smiles and says, “Safe travels. I love you.”

Someday, it will get easier to watch Jaskier ride away in his bright blue armor, sitting tall on Pegasus’s back. That day isn’t today.

***

“Cutting it close this year,” Geralt says by way of greeting when they meet up at the base of the Blue Mountains.

“Sorry.” Jaskier pulls him into an embrace. “Got held up.”

“In Velen?”

“Perhaps.”

Geralt’s lips twitch.

“Does this mean you win the pool this year?” Jaskier asks archly.

“Means Ciri and I will split it. And it means that I’m glad you’re happy.”

Jaskier is taken aback. “Why, thank you, Geralt. That was shockingly sentimental.”

“Hm. Don’t get used to it. You ready? If I have to trudge up the mountain in ass-deep snow because you got distracted by your cock again—”

“That only happened _once_ , you complete—”

***

The winter passes slowly. Jaskier enjoys his days with his brothers, though Ciri and Yennefer haven’t joined them this year. Yennefer is embroiled in some Lodge business— Jaskier knows better than to ask the details— and Ciri is staying in Skellige with “a friend.”

“Good for Ciri. I thought she and Cerys would dance around each other for as long as you and Yenn did,” Jaskier teases Geralt, which causes his brother to grumble, because Geralt will never stop seeing Ciri as the little twelve year old princess that he found in the woods, no matter how many years pass.

The keep is a little less bright without Ciri and though Jaskier would never admit it to her face, without Yennefer as well. Still, he spends his days with Geralt and the others. And on cold nights where he misses Eskel, he takes Eskel’s sweater out of his pack and sleeps with it next to his head on the pillow. He tries not to wear it too often, since he doesn’t want his own scent to overtake Eskel’s, but on days where he’s a bit maudlin, he’ll sometimes put it on. He wears it to dinner one night and knows that Lambert is dying to give him a hard time, but is being restrained by Aiden.

Yennefer visits in the dead of winter, portaling in from Ban Ard in a terrible temper, grumbling about Stregobor, Istredd, and the other Brotherhood idiots. After she and Geralt retreat to his room for the better part of the day, she emerges in an almost-good mood, which is a relief. They’re all sitting at dinner that night, with both Geralt and Yennefer looking disgustingly smug and self-satisfied, when Jaskier notices that she’s wearing a black choker instead of the silver wolf’s head medallion she normally wears around her neck.

“What happened to your medallion?” he asks her.

Yennefer reaches up to touch her throat. “I can’t wear it when I’m around other members of the Brotherhood. It would be too dangerous for Geralt if someone like Stregobor knew the depths of our attachment. Better for everyone to think he’s just a pretty piece of muscle I keep around.”

Geralt shoots his lover a wry look. “A pretty piece of muscle?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.” She smiles at him over the rim of her cup of White Gull.

Jaskier looks around the table. Aiden also has a wolf’s head medallion on the chain with his cat medallion. Coen has one, since he’s been an unofficial part of the Wolf school for decades now, though he keeps his clipped to his sword rather than wearing it around his neck. Ciri has had one since she was twelve, of course, and so does Triss, since she helped raise Ciri and is almost as much of a mother to her as Yennefer is. While it used to be a symbol that a witcher had survived his Trials, the medallions are now a symbol of family more than anything else. A symbol of belonging and love.

The next day, Jaskier goes outside to the forge and begins to work. Metalwork has never been a skill of his, but he forged his own medallion, a hundred odd years ago. Despite the chill in the air outside, working with the hot forge leaves him sweaty and disheveled, which he blames for the fact that his first attempt comes out looking more like one of those squash-faced lap dogs than a wolf.

He hears Vesemir join him, hovering in the doorway of the forge, but waits until his old fencing instructor speaks before he acknowledges them. “Trying to found a new school, pup?”

Jaskier gestures to the medallion with a flourish. “Yes, the School of the Pug.”

“Hm, I was thinking School of the Toad.”

“Well, that’s just uncalled for.”

Vesemir chuckles. “Is this for Eskel?”

Jaskier is oddly touched that Vesemir has taken the time to remember Eskel’s name. While Vesemir isn’t as bad as Geralt— who can remember the name, color, and breed of every horse he’s ever met, but can barely recall the name of a man he spoke to five minutes before— he’s also been alive for three centuries and doesn’t much bother with things like names. There are more important things to remember.

“I want to give him something of mine to keep with him when I’m here over the winter,” Jaskier says. “He’s…”

Jaskier hesitates, not sure how to put into words how Eskel has become his home, just as much as Kaer Morhen is.

“He’s important to me,” Jaskier finally says.

“Hm.” Vesemir eyes the medallion Jaskier is currently working on. “You want me to take over?”

“I’ve done this before!”

“If I remember correctly, Geralt ended up finishing your medallion when you gave up.”

“Ah, did he?” Jaskier has a vague memory of something to that effect. “Well, with age comes experience. I have this well in hand.”

It takes him several days, but he eventually manages to craft a perfectly serviceable silver wolf’s head medallion. He tucks it into his saddle bag with Eskel’s sweater.

***

When the snow finally melts at the beginning of April and the Trail is passable, Jaskier rides down the mountain with Geralt. They part ways at Ard Carraigh, Geralt to head to Ban Ard to meet Yennefer before they portal to Corvo Bianco to reunite with Ciri and Jaskier to head west to cut through Redania on his way to Velen. Jaskier will miss his brothers; he always does after they part ways in the spring. But the promise of seeing Eskel soon eases the pangs of homesickness he always feels when he leaves Kaer Morhen.

He’s making good time until he stops in a town on the border of Redania and Temeria, only two days’ ride from Ashling Grove. He’s stopped here before; it’s a popular stop for traveling merchants and therefore has a robust market. He only intends to stop for the day; Pegasus needs new shoes and he has a saddle bag that has grown worn and needs to be replaced. He’s just dropped Pegasus off at the farrier and is on his way to the market when a woman’s voice hisses,“Witcher!”

Jaskier turns and finds a young woman standing in the alleyway to his left, beckoning to him. She’s hardly older than Ciri, petite and fair-haired. She reeks of fear and she’s visibly trembling. As soon as he approaches her, she shoves a coin purse into his hands. It’s light; he doubts there are more than a handful of crowns in it. But the desperation in her eyes stops him from protesting.

“This is all I have,” the woman says in a trembling voice. “But I’ll do anything. We need your help. The whole town does.”

Her name is Edda, she tells him later when he visits her room at the brothel where she works. She refused to talk to him in a tavern or anywhere else they might be overheard. She is clearly terrified of him, though she relaxes a bit when he stays on the other side of the room, letting her keep the bed between them at all times, and keeps his hands visible. People have been disappearing in town since the summer, she tells him. It started with people no one would miss, like whores, beggars, and fisstech addicts, but it’s been escalating. Now no one is safe, including the alderman’s young daughter, who disappeared last month.

“But no one kicked up a fuss when she vanished,” Edda tells him, looking a bit tearful. “There weren’t any search parties or anything. There’s normally a fuss when girls like that vanish.”

The implication, that there’s never any fuss when girls like Edda vanish, is clear.

She glances at the door anxiously. “It’s like no one even realizes what's going on. There was a city guardsman, Leon, who used to come see me every week. He’s a good sort. But last time he was here, I tried to talk to him about all the missing people and it was like he didn’t understand me at all. The words weren’t sticking. He got frustrated and left and I haven’t seen him since.”

Sounds like a compulsion, Jaskier thinks, unease creeping up his spine. “And no one seems to notice the missing people?”

“The common folk do, but the people who matter— the guard, the alderman, the Merchant’s Guild, none of them have any clue. The madame here, Catrine, went to have a talk with the head of the city guard after half the girls here had disappeared. She never came back.” Edda begins to sniffle a bit.

Jaskier hands her a handkerchief, which seems to surprise her, though she takes it gratefully.

“You’re being very brave,” he tells her gently, which earns him a watery smile.

As soon as he leaves the brothel, he sends a letter to Eskel telling him that he won’t be returning to Velen for some time.

***


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“All winter, I counted the days until I would return to you. I cannot put into words how sorry I am that my return has been delayed, but I’m needed here.” It’s a man’s voice, low and silky smooth.  
>  Jaskier frowns at the non-sequitur. Does this man have him confused with someone else?  
> “Dear heart, I promise you that there’s nothing that I want more than to be in your arms.”  
> A chill runs down Jaskier’s spine.  
> “As soon as I’m able, I’ll come home to you. There’s nowhere on the Continent I’d rather be.”  
> Jaskier doesn’t turn around. He takes a sip of ale to wet his suddenly dry mouth. “Those words weren’t meant for you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos. I'm bowled over by how much love this fic is getting. This is the chapter that earns that "Graphic Depiction of Violence" content warning, so please proceed with caution.
> 
> Thank you to KHansen for all her help with betaing!

It only takes Jaskier a day to realize that something in Whitecliff is utterly fucked. Axii can’t get the alderman or the head of the guard to talk to him; both men are so thoroughly compelled that his attempts only confuse them. Now that he’s paying attention, he can tell that the faint stink of fear that lingers on everyone he passes isn’t because of him. No, the people in this town are just afraid, even if many of them don’t seem to realize what they’re afraid of. Most frustratingly, the people who _do_ know something won’t talk.

Within a few days, he’s fairly certain he’s dealing with a vampire, though what kind of vampire is anyone’s guess. By the end of the week, he starts thinking that he’s dealing with multiple vampires, given the sheer amount of people who have gone missing. He’s been there just over a week when he shares a drink with a traveling merchant heading to Temeria. The man seems thoroughly unnerved by the town and tells Jaskier he no longer intends to stay the night. It reminds him too much of a town in Aedirn he used to visit regularly on his travels, where most of the population of the town vanished over the span of a year.

“No one would tell me what happened,” the merchant tells Jaskier. “There were no plague pits. Don’t think it was raiders either; it was a decent sized town.”

Jaskier escorts the man to the town limits and goes back to his room, where he finds Edda dead on the floor with her throat torn out.

He stares down at the corpse, feeling suddenly very old and very tired. Edda looks even younger in death than she did in life, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. She was killed here; there’s too much blood on the floor for her body to have been relocated. Jaskier’s saddlebags have been searched, with most of his possessions pulled out and thrown on the floor. The mattress and pillows have been slashed and there are straw and feathers everywhere.

Eskel’s sweater and the wolf medallion Jaskier made for him are lying on the ground, not far from Edda’s body. The sleeve of the sweater is spotted with blood.

Jaskier is chased out of town with a mob at his heels, because the townsfolk might not give a fuck when the local girls go missing, but when one turns up dead in a witcher’s bedroom, they suddenly find it in themselves to care.

He’s not surprised when he finds the merchant he shared a drink with dead on the side of the road several miles outside of town, his throat torn out just like Edda’s. Jaskier doesn’t have time to bury the body, so he burns it with Igni.

He intends to head to Aedirn to investigate the town the merchant was telling him about, but he doesn’t make it that far. Two days’ ride from Whitecliff, he comes across another town, this one hardly more than a hamlet, that has the same stink of low-level fear. As he rides in, he sees that many of the houses look like they’ve been unoccupied for some time.

He makes inquiries, tries to make small talk with the barmaid and a couple of the old drunks at the tavern, who he’s found are usually the best sources of knowledge, but no one is any more willing to talk than they were in the last town. At least he doesn’t get run out of this town; no one seems to care one way or another if there’s a witcher there.

Afterwards, there’s another town in the same situation, then another. A clear picture is starting to form in Jaskier’s mind. A group of vampires— Jaskier isn’t sure how many or what kind yet, though he has a sinking feeling that he’s dealing with at least one higher vampire— move into a town, compel those in power to ignore their presence, and begin feeding on the populace. Whores, beggars, and other outcasts die first, followed by anyone young and pretty enough to draw the vampires’ attention. And then once they’ve run out of desirable victims, the vampires move on.

Jaskier has never seen anything quite like it and he knows that if he’s truly dealing with an entire nest of vampires, he’s fucked. He also knows that this is the part where he should be calling Geralt and Yennefer. This is why Yennefer gave them all xenovoxes. Before Yennefer came into their lives, Jaskier would have had no choice but to face this alone— witchers were solitary hunters, entirely disconnected from each other except for their winters at Kaer Morhen.

But Jaskier can’t bring himself to summon his brothers, Yennefer, and maybe even Ciri to an undoubtedly dangerous situation before he knows more about what’s going on. There are too many unknown variables for him to risk putting his family in harm’s way.

Three weeks after he left Whitecliff, Jaskier is picking at a stringy porkchop in a no-name tavern in a no-name crossroads town, when he becomes aware of someone standing behind him. He doesn’t turn around, though he stays aware of every move the person makes. It’s not unusual for someone to want to gawp at the mutant or have to work up the nerve to talk to him, though Jaksier doesn’t smell any fear or anxiety.

“All winter, I counted the days until I would return to you. I cannot put into words how sorry I am that my return has been delayed, but I’m needed here.” It’s a man’s voice, low and silky smooth.

Jaskier frowns at the non-sequitur. Does this man have him confused with someone else?

“Dear heart, I promise you that there’s nothing that I want more than to be in your arms.”

A chill runs down Jaskier’s spine.

“As soon as I’m able, I’ll come home to you. There’s nowhere on the Continent I’d rather be.”

Jaskier doesn’t turn around. He takes a sip of ale to wet his suddenly dry mouth. “Those words weren’t meant for you.”

A slender, pale hand reaches around him and drops a folded up piece of parchment on the table next to Jaskier’s plate. “I have a naturally inquisitive mind. You’ll have to forgive the intrusion.”

Jaskier stares down at the parchment. It’s his own scrawling handwriting staring up at him, the words he wrote to Eskel nearly a month ago when he realized he wouldn’t be back in Velen by the end of April.

“You have a way with words,” the man standing behind him says and it’s only then that Jaskier realizes that even though he’s standing right behind Jaskier, he emits no body heat. “Unusual for a witcher. Your breed isn’t known for its literacy.”

“Can’t believe everything you read. After all, they say vampires can’t see their reflections or eat garlic, and we all know that’s bullshit.”

The vampire lowers himself into the seat across from Jaskier. He’s tall, thin, and nondescript, with neatly trimmed blond hair and pale gray eyes. He looks anywhere between twenty or forty, though in reality, Jaskier is sure he’s much older. He flashes a close-lipped smile at Jaskier.

“The things you have to say to keep a lover happy sometimes.” Jaskier lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I’m sure you know how it is.”

“If these are just pretty words, then why are your hands shaking?”

Jaskier clenches his fists on the tabletop. “Where is he?”

“Safe back at his farm in Velen. This letter never reached him.”

“And what do you want with my private correspondences with my lover?”

“We just wanted to get to know you a bit better, Jaskier of Kaer Morhen.” The vampire leans back in his chair and regards Jaskier like a wyvern might study a herd of sheep.

“Who’s ‘we?’”

“My name is Mikhail,” the vampire says. “My family and I were curious about the witcher who’s been such a nuisance. You’ve been getting involved with business that isn’t yours to interfere in.”

“I’m a witcher. This is exactly the type of business I get involved in.”

“Perhaps under normal circumstances, but I think you’ll find it in yourself to make an exception here.” Mikhail holds out his hand to a passing barmaid, who passes him the ale meant for another table without losing her stride. “I’ve been to his farm, you know.”

Jaskier’s fingernails dig into the wooden table.

“Hillfolk blood has a very distinctive scent, and it’s strong in him. He smells delicious. A shame he isn’t prettier.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Mikhail chuckles. “No need to fret, witcher. He won’t come to any harm. Yet.”

Jaskier doesn’t say anything, waiting for the ultimatum he knows is coming.

“You know how fast vampires can move, I’m sure. Faster than horses under the right circumstances. I have compatriots who are waiting for my signal. If they don’t receive it, they’ll be making their way to your lover’s farm within the hour. He’s young and strong. I think it would take him a long time to die, but you still wouldn’t make it there in time to save him.”

Jaskier tries to picture Eskel as he last saw him— warm and smiling— and not imagine him bleeding and terrified under the jaws of a faceless vampire. “What do you want?”

“Do you know you’re wanted for murder in Whitecliff? Apparently, you killed a young prostitute and a traveling merchant. Terrible business.”

“Did I, now.”

“I think it’s best that you return there and surrender to the justice of the local magistrate.”

“So I can be hanged?”

“You did kill two innocent people, maybe more.”

“Wouldn’t it just be easier to kill me yourself?” Jaskier sneers. “This seems like a lot of trouble to go through.”

“There have been a rash of unexplained deaths and disappearances throughout this region in the last few years. We think it’s best for the populace to be able to put their worries to rest.”

Jaskier smiles humorlessly. “So you realize you’ve brought too much attention to yourselves, and you want me as a ready made scapegoat? I’m certain you’ll ensure that everyone forgets I was nowhere near the area when most of the killings happened.”

The vampire nods. “The people who matter, at least. You have a choice. Your life, or your farmer’s. Decide quickly. My companions will be getting restless by now.”

Eskel, his hands gentle as he applies bruise tincture to Jaskier’s broken leg. Eskel, smiling shyly at him across the table. Eskel, wearing a flower crown and watching Jaskier perform with an expression of unadulterated love. Eskel, snuggled in Jaskier’s arms late at night, his heartbeat a soothing rhythm against Jaskier’s chest. Eskel, laughing himself hoarse at something Jaskier said. Eskel, hugging Jaskier tight and making him promise to return soon.

Jaskier really hates breaking his promises.

“If you harm him,” Jaskier says, his words a low growl in his chest. “There’s nowhere on the Continent that you’ll be able to hide from me.”

“He won’t come to any harm, so long as you do as instructed.” The vampire holds out a hand to Jaskier, palm-up. “I’ll be taking your xenovox now. Can’t have you contacting your fellow witchers.”

Jaskier hesitates. If he gives up his xenovox, he’s well and truly fucked. No one will know what’s happened to him until it’s too late.

“How long do you think it would take your farmer to give up hope of rescue?” the vampire asks. “Or would he die watching the door, expecting his witcher to burst in at any moment?”

Jaskier reaches into his saddlebag and hangs over the xenovox, knowing that his fate is sealed the moment the vampire’s fingers close around the smooth metal.

***

When April comes and goes without Jaskier returning, Eskel tries not to worry. The snow could have taken longer to melt than Jaskier expected or he could have been sidetracked by a contract. So Eskel goes about business as usual— birthing newborn kids, taking his wares to the market in Gors Velen, trying to enjoy the simple pleasures of springtime. But he can’t help but stay up late every night and jerk awake at the smallest sound, waiting for the thud of hoofbeats approaching his farm and the sound of a familiar voice calling out to him.

As April slides into May, the worry sets in. Eskel knows Jaskier well enough to know that he would write if he could. If he had decided to end their affair, he wouldn’t just disappear without a trace either. He wouldn’t do that to Eskel, which means that something has happened to prevent Jaskier from returning to the farm.

Eskel tries not to imagine Jaskier bleeding out alone in a swamp somewhere, his body lost to the elements and scavengers.

He can’t bring himself to go to the Belleteyn Festival, not when he knows it will be filled with memories of being there with Jaskier the year before. But when he goes into town two days later, the evidence of the festival is still there. The garlands of flowers haven’t been taken down and the smell of woodsmoke in the air hasn’t completely faded. When he sees a flower crown discarded on the ground, its petals scattered over the cobblestones, he decides he needs a drink and ducks into the tavern.

“Your friend the witcher around?” the barkeep asks by way of greeting. “They’re having trouble with foglets over in Elk Hill.”

“No, haven’t seen him yet this year.” Eskel settles down on a rickety barstool. “I’ll let him know when he turns up.”

“Probably for the best,” another man sitting at the bar says. “Don’t need a witcher around here, not after what happened up in Whitecliff.”

Eskel turns to the man with a stony expression. He looks familiar, but Eskel can’t put a name to the face. “What happened in Whitecliff?”

“Heard a witcher murdered a whore. Tore her throat right out when she wouldn’t fuck him for free. Killed a traveling merchant too just for the fun of it.”

“Witchers kill monsters, not whores and merchants.”

“Never know what’s going on in those mutants’ heads,” the man says sagely.

The barkeep slides a mug of ale in front of Eskel, but he doesn’t touch it. “Can’t believe everything you hear.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “My daughter and her husband live near Whitecliff. They were here for the festival and they said the mutant confessed. He’s going to hang.”

A cold sense of dread crawls down Eskel’s spine. There’s no reason to think that this condemned witcher is _his_ witcher. But Whitecliff is right on the border of Redania and Temeria, only two or three days’ ride north of Ashling Grove. Jaskier most likely would have passed through it on his way to Velen. Eskel doesn’t think for a minute that Jaskier murdered two innocent people in cold blood, but witchers make for very convenient scapegoats.

His mental image shifts from Jaskier dying alone in the mud to Jaskier sitting in a cold, dark jail cell, waiting for the noose around his neck.

He leaves the tavern without touching his ale.

***

The next day, Eskel hires the sheep farmers’ two oldest daughters to watch the farm for a couple of weeks. It’s strange to turn over the running of the farm to someone else, but they’re both sensible enough girls and used to handling livestock. Once they’re settled, he heads for Gors Velen. It takes some asking around before he can locate Triss’ shop, but a helpful barkeep finally points him to a location not far from the market. Eskel’s relief is short-lived when he gets to her shop and finds a “Closed” sign on the door.

“You looking for Miss Merigold?” a voice calls.

Eskel turns to the elderly woman leaning out of the seamstress’ shop next door. “Will she be back soon?”

“I’m afraid not, love. She said she had business in Vizima. Probably won’t be back until next week.”

If Jaskier is condemned to hang, next week might be too late for him. It could already be too late for him.

Swallowing back the panic rising in his throat, Eskel asks, “Can I leave a message for her with you?”

***

The worst part is that Jaskier isn’t even granted the dignity of a quick execution. No, in this part of Redania, justice is meted out by a traveling magistrate, who isn’t due back in town until the end of the month. And while Jaskier is far from eager to end up at the end of a hangman’s noose, at least there’s a simplicity to that. He’ll die just like old Master Varin used to say witchers should die— alone and unmourned. With his death, Jaskier might finally do something that the old bastard would approve of.

Instead, he sits in an underground jail cell and waits for the end. There are no windows in his cell and no company but the rotation of guards who come to stand outside his cell, most of whom are too terrified to even meet his eyes. The cell reeks of old blood and fear. Jaskier wishes he had Eskel’s sweater with him so he could bury his face in it and surround himself with the scents of home, but they took everything but his breeches, boots, and chemise from him when they locked him in this cell.

He wonders how long it will take for Eskel to realize that Jaskier isn’t coming back to him. He wonders how long Eskel will wait. The thought of Eskel alone, perhaps thinking that Jaskier has abandoned him, is agonizing; but at least he’ll be alive and safe.

It would be easy enough for Jaskier to break out. The guards aren’t equipped to detain a witcher; they’re sloppy. He could easily cast Axii to force a guard to release him, knock one out and steal his keys, or even break the lock himself with Aard. But every time he finds his thoughts wandering in that direction, he imagines Eskel making soap in his house and looking up to find death standing in his doorway.

He doesn’t know how long he sits in the cell, awaiting word that the magistrate has signed his warrant of execution, before he hears footsteps on the stairs. He looks up to see Mikhail descending the stairs, flanked by two young women, both of whom Jaskier is certain are bruxae, given their raven hair and dark eyes.

“Good news, my friend,” the vampire says.

“I’m not your fucking friend.”

The vampire chuckles. He’s making no attempt to hide his teeth now. “The alderman has decided that there’s no reason to wait for the magistrate to sign a warrant of execution for you. After all, you’ve willingly surrendered yourself to justice and confessed to your crimes. You hang tomorrow at sunset.”

Jaskier carefully schools his face into blankness. “Well, at least it’s not dawn. I’m not an early riser.”

“Your cooperation has been noted and appreciated.”

“What a relief.”

“It should be. It means your farmer lives.”

Jaskier’s hands ball into fists at his sides.

“But if you get any last-minute impulses to save your own life, just remember that it would take one of us only hours to be at his farm. He would be long dead before you managed to reach him.”

“Well aware,” Jaskier snarls through gritted teeth.

The vampire chuckles. “No need to look so grim, witcher. You stay right where you are, and no one will touch a hair on his head.”

***

Nothing about the town of Whitecliff seems like the type of place where a witcher might be lured to his death. The people look the same as people do in any other town, like the townsfolk Eskel grew up with in Ashling Grove. For a moment, Eskel thinks that maybe the rumors he heard were a misunderstanding. Maybe Jaskier is on his way to Eskel’s farm right now and when he gets there, he’ll be puzzled to find Eskel gone.

Until Eskel sees the gallows being erected in the center of town. The sight gives him a chill.

“What’s going on?” he asks a passing young woman, who fixes him with a beady-eyed, suspicious look.

“They’re hanging the damn mutant who killed all of those poor people,” she says.

A knot of dread forms in Eskel's gut. “The witcher, what did he look like?”

“Why?”

“Just curious.”

The disdainful curl of her lip tells him what she thinks about his curiosity. “Dark hair. One blue eye, one yellow.”

 _Fuck._ Eskel doesn’t even bother to thank her as she walks away. He swallows and looks up at the gallows, trying not to imagine Jaskier standing there, facing a crowd screaming for his blood. At least if the gallows haven’t been finished yet, Eskel isn’t too late.

The problem is, Eskel has no idea what the fuck he’s supposed to do next.

Does he go to the alderman or the magistrate and beg for Jaskier’s life? Say that he knows Jaskier well enough to be certain that the witcher would never raise a hand to someone who didn’t deserve it? A stranger’s word won’t be enough to sway them. Does he find out where Jaskier is being held and try to break him out? That seems like a great way to end up swinging from the gallows with Jaskier. Eskel stands in the middle of the town square, staring at the gallows and trying to weigh his options. All he realizes is that his options are shit.

He finds a tavern, because if Whitecliff is anything like Ashling Grove, a tavern is probably the best place for information. The barmaid openly stares at his scars as he approaches and Eskel tries not to visibly bristle.

“Could you tell me where the alderman’s house is?” Eskel doesn’t bother with niceties. If being friendly or charming would be helpful around here, Jaskier wouldn’t be in this situation.

She eyes him doubtfully for a moment. “Why do you want to know?”

“Have some information for him about the murders in town.”

“What does it matter? They’re hanging the bastard who did it tomorrow.”

“The alderman’s house?” Eskel prompts, because he has nothing nice to say to that.

She eyes him doubtfully for a moment, then says, “Big brick house down the road. Can’t miss it.”

Eskel mutters a thanks, then heads towards the alderman’s house. It is indeed a large brick house, grander than he was expecting for a town this size, but maybe the man has family money. Before he can knock on the door, it swings open and he finds himself facing a slim, dark haired young woman with very pale skin and enormous eyes such a dark brown they almost look black. She smiles up at him silently.

“I’m looking for the alderman?” Eskel clears his throat, acutely aware of how absurd this is. He doesn’t even know what he’s going to do once he talks to the alderman. What does he say to convince the man that Jaskier isn’t a monster, but instead is the kindest, gentlest person Eskel has ever had the joy of getting to know?

Without saying a word, she gestures him inside. Eskel steps inside, letting the door close behind him, and the woman vanishes up the steps. Unsure of whether he was supposed to follow her, Eskel hovers at the bottom of the steps, until he hears a door open upstairs and a man appears. He’s not what Eskel was expecting— tall, fair haired, and just as pale as the young woman. He seems to glide down the steps with unnatural grace. The hairs on the back of Eskel’s neck prickle.

“Are you the alderman?” Eskel asks, though something in the back of his brain tells him that there’s no way in fuck that this man is an alderman.

“No,” the man says, smiling a close-lipped smile. “The alderman is indisposed, but my name is Mikhail and I would be happy to help you with whatever you need.”

“I, uh, live down in Ashling Grove in Velen,” Eskel says. “I’m… friends with the witcher you have in custody, Jaskier.”

“That’s not something I would admit too loudly around here. The witcher isn’t a popular man in these parts.”

“That’s why I’m here. There must be some kind of misunderstanding, because Jaskier wouldn’t hurt anyone, not unless it was in self-defense. Witchers kill monsters, not men. And Jaskier is a good man. He’s saved my life.”

Mikhail regards him with an odd little smile. “You came all this way just to plead for mercy for the witcher?”

There’s movement out of the corner of Eskel’s eye and he looks around to see two women who could be sisters with the woman who let him in watching him from the doorway. Something about the hungry way they look at him leaves him disconcerted.

Eskel swallows back his unease and turns to Mikhail. “Please, if I can just see the alderman—”

Mikhail reaches out to clutch Eskel’s shoulder. “All in good time, Eskel. Why don’t you come upstairs?”

Eskel just has time to realize that he never told the other man his name before his mind goes completely blank.

***

Meditating has never come as easily to Jaskier as it does to his brothers. His brain works too quickly; finding the stillness and peace that’s necessary for proper meditation is always a struggle. Sitting on the floor of the jail cell, he does his best to empty his mind and try to find some measure of peace. Somewhere, something is dripping, the steady _tap, tap, tap_ of water hitting the floor a maddening rhythm. The guard watching his cell is asleep, filling the air with quiet, raspy snores that would be bearable if they were regular, but are punctuated with loud snorts. Upstairs, there’s the clatter of someone dropping something.

Jaskier tries to think of Eskel, but his happy memories of love and laughter are soured by the knowledge that Eskel will probably never know what happened to him. He’ll never know how hard Jaskier tried to get back to him. He might go the rest of his life thinking that Jaskier abandoned him. The thought fills Jaskier’s gut with a sick feeling. He never wanted to be something that Eskel would have to mourn.

He’s been alive for over a century and walking the Path since he was barely twenty. Jaskier long ago made his peace with the idea of a lonely death. His family will grieve for him, but they’ll move on, because there’s no option to _not_ move on from loss when you’re a witcher. But now, dying means leaving Eskel alone and that thought is unbearable.

Heavy footsteps are descending the stairs. Jaskier hopes it’s just another guard. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with Mikhail’s smug satisfaction right now. He sits perfectly still, eyes closed, hoping that if he looks deep in meditation, no one will try to speak to him. When he hears no exchange between the guards and no footsteps of the first guard ascending the stairs, he tenses. It can’t possibly be sunset yet, right?

“You were always shit at meditation, Jask.”

Jaskier has never been happier to hear that grumpy voice in his life. His eyes snap open. “Geralt.”

Geralt stands outside his cell, wearing the expression of perfect blankness that tells Jaskier he’s furious. Behind him, the guard has the dazed look of someone who just got whammied with Axii. Geralt casts Aard, breaking the lock, and reaches into the cell to haul Jaskier to his feet. He pulls Jaskier into a one-armed hug that’s more of an excuse to check him for injuries than a gesture of affection, but Jaskier leans into it.

“What happened?” Geralt asks. “The security here is shit. You should have been able to get out of here with no problem.”

“I couldn’t escape.” Jaskier’s relief is replaced with dread when he remembers exactly what the vampires were holding over his head. “There’s a group of vampires in this town. At least one higher vampire and two bruxae, but I think there must be more, given the number of missing people. They know about Eskel. They know where he lives. They said they would kill him if I didn’t surrender. Fuck, is Yenn with you? We need to portal to his farm before—”

“We found you because Eskel left a message with one of Triss’s neighbors telling her he thought you were in trouble. He was on his way here.”

Icy dread overtakes Jaskier. “When was this?”

“Three days ago. You’re fucking lucky Triss got back from Vizima earlier than expected.”

Three days is more than enough time to make it from Gors Velen to Whitecliff. Jaskier remembers the leering words of the vampire: 

_“He smells delicious. A shame he isn’t prettier.”_

“Are Triss and Yennefer with you?” he asks.

Geralt nods. “And Ciri.”

“Good,” Jaskier says. “Because if Eskel is here, we need to find him. Now.”

***

When Eskel comes back to himself, he’s perched on the edge of a four-poster bed in a sumptuous bedroom with absolutely no idea how he got there. Blinking, he looks around. This certainly isn’t a room in the local inn; no lodging in a town like this is going to have such nice furnishing. Vaguely, he remembers seeking out the alderman. Did he actually get to talk to the alderman? He looks down at his hands, which rest in his lap, and frowns. His wrist is bleeding. When he looks closer, he sees a crescent-shaped bite mark.

Eskel stares at the bite mark for a long moment, uncomprehending. Then he remembers the strange man who wouldn’t tell him where the alderman was and the silent, dark-haired women watching him. Everything suddenly makes crystal clear sense to him. He reaches up to touch the side of his neck and his fingers come away damp with blood. It occurs to him that he sat here, helpless and unaware, while he was bitten multiple times. They could have killed him, and he never would have known.

Panic is starting to make itself known at the edges of his mind. He forces himself to think through it. He came here to help Jaskier, not become dinner for a house full of vampires. He needs to figure out a way out of this.

He wonders how long he was in the strange mind-control fugue. It was just past noon when he got to the alderman’s house, and it’s now dark outside. Has Jaskier already been executed? Was Eskel locked in this bedroom while the man he loves died?

No, he can’t think like that. He can’t contemplate the idea that he’s too late. Eskel stands up and crosses to the door. To his complete lack of surprise, it’s locked from the outside. He leans his forehead against the door and closes his eyes.

“Is anyone out there?” His voice comes out sounding very young and very small, not at all like the voice of someone who’s riding to the rescue of the man he loves.

From the other side of the door, he hears footsteps approach and he instantly regrets drawing his captors’ attention back to him. Eskel backs away from the door as it opens and the fair-haired man from earlier appears.

“Ah, good, you’re up.” The man— Mikhail, Eskel remembers— smiles broadly, revealing too-sharp teeth. “I was worried we’d got a bit overenthusiastic. Not too often we come across hillfolk blood.”

Eskel swallows down the feeling of nausea. “Where’s Jaskier?”

“You’re more worried about the witcher’s life than your own? Most people in your position would be begging for mercy.”

“Tell me where he is. Is he still alive?” Eskel is proud when his voice doesn’t shake.

“For now. I’m afraid he won’t be happy to learn you’re in town. You see, we intercepted the letter he sent you telling you that he wouldn’t be returning to Velen anytime soon. It was quite revealing. In exchange for your life, he confessed to the murders.”

“No,” Eskel whispers, because the thought of Jaskier sacrificing himself for Eskel is too horrible for words. That Jaskier would think even for a minute that Eskel is worth losing his life for…

“I promised him that I wouldn’t hunt you down at your farm, Eskel, but I never said anything about what would happen if you came here.”

Eskel is sure that the vampire can hear his heart beating too fast and smell his fear, just as easily as Jaskier would be able to. But he forces himself to keep a calm face. “You probably shouldn’t purposefully piss off a witcher.”

“I’m not afraid of Jaskier. After all, he’s barely a witcher.” Mikhail’s eyes fall to Eskel’s neck and Eskel takes an involuntary step backwards.

“Witcher enough to kill you.”

Mikhail smiles. “No, he won’t be. But your faith in him is touching.”

Eskel doesn’t realize the vampire has moved until he feels teeth sinking into his neck. This time, Mikahil doesn’t bother compelling him. He doesn’t have to. Eskel tries pushing at him, hands frantically scrambling for purchase, but he may as well be trying to shove a brick wall. The vampire’s grip on him is like iron. Mikhail makes a horrible wet sound while he drinks and Eskel realizes that he’s not going to stop, not until every drop is gone and Eskel is dead.

“Jaskier,” he whispers, because he needs to live. He needs to save the man he loves. He can’t die here and let Jaskier be executed for a crime he didn’t commit.

From downstairs, there’s the sound of splintering wood and a shriek. Mikhail releases Eskel, who falls to the ground, gasping.

“Well,” the vampire says. “It sounds like your witcher may be making a nuisance of himself again.”

***

They plan on being subtle. Yennefer and Triss scout out the alderman’s house, using magic to determine how many vampires are inside— at least a dozen— and figuring out exactly where they are in the house. Jaskier, Geralt, and Ciri discuss a plan of entry. They’re going to be smart about this, because you have to be smart when you’re dealing with a dozen vampires.

All the careful planning goes out the window when Jaskier hears Eskel’s gasp of, _“Jaskier,”_ accompanied by the slurping sound of a vampire feeding. In his many years, Jaskier has never felt terror like he does at that moment.

“Jask,” Geralt says, but it’s too late. The man Jaskier loves is dying and he doesn’t care about anything but getting to him. With a blast of Aard, Jaskier breaks the door down.

There’s a bruxa waiting for him. She barely gets time to react before Jaskier casts Igni, engulfing her in flames. As she reels backwards, wailing in agony, two more bruxae appear on the staircase. One lets out a piercing shriek that sends Jaskier flying backwards into the wall. The force of hitting the wall knocks all the breath out of him and he slides to the ground, winded.

As the bruxa advances on him, there’s a shimmer in the air and Ciri portals in between him and the bruxae. She lets out a scream that makes the bruxa’s shriek sound like a kitten mewling. Both bruxa are thrown back with enough force that they crash through the wall behind them.

Jaskier drags himself to his feet, wincing. “I had that covered.”

She gives him a look that reminds him distressingly of Geralt. “Sure you did, Uncle Jask.”

A katakan in its monstrous form comes flying at them, roaring with rage. Jaskier doesn’t even have time to assume a defensive position before Geralt is there. His brother meets the katakan with his sword swinging. Triss and Yennefer portal in just as the entryway fills with vampires. There are four more bruxa, an alp, one fleder, and a handful more than Jaskier can’t identify. How many types of fucking vampires do they need in one house?

“We have this handled!” Yennefer shouts as she reduces the alp to cinders. “Go get Eskel.”

Every one of Jaskier’s instincts tells him to stay and help his family, but then he remembers the despair in Eskel's voice when he whispered his name.

Jaskier thunders up the stairs. He can smell Eskel— grass and honey— and blood and hear the hammering of a frightened human heartbeat. When he draws closer, he smells the sour scent of terror.

“Come in, witcher.” It’s Mikhail’s low, cool voice. “Your farmer has been waiting for you.”

“No.” Eskel’s voice is a croak and Jaskier’s heart clenches.

Slowly, he pushes open the door and sees Eskel standing there, eyes glassy with pain and fear. His neck and his wrist are both bleeding from bite marks.

“Jaskier,” he says. “Run.”

Mikhail directly behind Eskel. He’s let the human guise slip away; the face grinning at Jaskier is the gaunt, monstrous one of a higher vampire. Thin, clawed fingers wrap around Eskel’s throat. “Put down your sword,” the vampire says. “Or I’m going to kill him.”

***

The thing standing behind Eskel smells like death. Every time he catches sight of the horrible, smiling face out of the corner of his eye, he feels a visceral shudder of dread run through him. He tries to focus on Jaskier— who is mercifully alive— but that’s no better because Jaskier is looking at him with a mixture of grief and horror. Eskel makes a noise of protest as Jaskier lets his sword fall to the ground.

“And the steel,” Mikhail says.

Jaw clenching, Jaskier unsheathes his steel sword and drops it on top of the silver.

Eskel opens his mouth to speak, because Jaskier needs to run, he needs to get out of here while he still can, but Mikahil’s grip on his throat tightens and Eskel’s words end with a gasp.

Slowly, Jaskier raises his hands in surrender. “Your quarrel is with me. He’s an innocent man. If you’re going to hurt anyone, hurt me.”

“You have Black Blood flowing in your veins,” Mikhail says. “I can smell it. Your blood is poison. But _his_ is nice and fresh.”

Eskel feels breath tickle the side of his neck and he holds perfectly still, refusing to cringe away.

“I told you,” Jaskier says quietly. “If you hurt him, there’s nowhere on the Continent you’ll be able to hide from me. I’ll tear you apart.”

“You just killed my entire family, witcher. Why shouldn’t I take yours?”

“You hid up here with a human shield while your family died. Don’t pretend righteous indignation. Most higher vampires go their whole lives without taking a human life. You chose this.”

“Just like you chose to leave your cell, even when you knew what the consequences would be for the man you love.”

“Look, you want to kill me? Kill me. But Eskel doesn’t deserve your wrath.”

“Funny,” Mikhail says. “He came here to beg for your life and now you’re begging for his. Too bad it’s all in vain.”

And just as a portal opens up next to them, the vampire tears Eskel’s throat out.

***

The sound that Jaskier makes isn’t quite a scream. He doesn’t have enough breath to scream as Eskel falls, eyes blown dark with shock. Geralt, Triss, Yennefer, and Ciri come bursting out of the portal, but it’s too late. Jaskier only has eyes for Eskel, bleeding on the ground, making a horrible gurgling noise as he tries to breathe.

Mikhail laughs, showing teeth that are red with Eskel’s blood, and Jaskier’s thoughts go blank with rage. With a roar, he lunges.

Later, he’ll remember very little of the fight that follows. Even as he battles the vampire with Geralt and Ciri, his focus is on the labored sounds of Eskel’s breathing, Triss urging Eskel to stay awake, and Yennefer cursing under her breath. Eskel’s heartbeat is weakening and his breaths are coming out more erratically. He’s trying to speak and Triss is shushing him, urging him to save his strength.

In the last century, Jaskier has seen plenty of terrible shit. The day his father tossed him to the witchers without so much as a goodbye. The Trials, where he listened to his friends and brothers scream themselves to death. Countless innocent people torn apart by monsters. Cintra burning, the smell of smoke, blood, and burnt bodies heavy in the air. Entire villages slaughtered during Nilfgaard’s march north, everyone dead down to the smallest babes.

Nothing compares to the moment that he hears Eskel’s heart stop beating.

Geralt plunges his sword into Mikhail’s heart at the same moment that Ciri drives her blade upwards through the vampire’s gut. Mikhail’s eyes go huge, mouth falling open in shock. With a roar of rage, Jaskier swings his sword and decapitates the vampire. As the head rolls away, he lets his sword fall out of his suddenly numb hands.

“Jask.” Geralt’s voice is filled with so much sympathy that Jaskier can’t stand it.

Jaskier stands there, unable to turn around. He doesn’t want to see Eskel lying there in a pool of his own blood. He doesn’t want to see the fear and pain that’s probably still etched on his beautiful face.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says again.

Jaskier shakes his head. He can only think of Eskel— the sweetness of his smile and the warmth of his laugh and the way he cuddled in Jaskier’s arms in his sleep and how much he loved his goats—

Behind him, a thready heartbeat picks up.

Jaskier lets out a shuddering breath and forces himself to turn around. Triss and Yennefer are kneeling on either side of Eskel, both of their skirts drenched in his blood. Yennefer has her hands around his throat, staunching the blood flow, while Triss’s hands hover above him. Triss’s lips are moving silently.

“Is he…” Jaskier doesn’t want to hope, because he knows it will only devastate him if those hopes are dashed. But he can’t stop the silent chant that beats in time with Eskel’s fragile heartbeat: _please, please, please, please…_

Yennefer gives a sharp nod. “He’s going to live.”

Jaskier looks down at Eskel and sees the rise and fall of his chest. He’s unconscious, eyes closed and head lolling, but he’s alive. There’s so much blood splattered around him, more blood than one person should have been able to lose and survive. If Triss and Yennefer hadn’t been here, he wouldn’t have stood a chance. He would be dead, all because Jaskier was careless and foolish and reckless. All because he made Eskel the perfect target for anyone who wanted to hurt Jaskier.

Jaskier swallows back the urge to cry and manages to say, “We should get him home.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... Remember you love me?
> 
> (Also remember that I only write happy endings.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When someone knocks on Eskel’s door one afternoon, he can’t stop the sudden swell of hope. He knows it’s not Jaskier; Jaskier wouldn’t knock. But that doesn’t stop Eskel’s heart from leaping into his throat as he crosses to the door._  
>  Geralt of Rivia stands there, clad in black armor and looking uncomfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the love on the last chapter. You all are the best.
> 
> And as always, thank you to KHansen for being an incredible beta.

When Eskel wakes up, the first things he’s aware of are a splitting headache, a coppery taste in his mouth, and his neck itching something fierce. He reaches up to scratch the itch and finds stiff bandages wrapped around his throat. He rubs at the heavy linen, brain trying to make sense of his fuzzy thoughts.

“Don’t,” an unfamiliar female voice says and he looks around to find a dark-haired, violet-eyed woman striding towards him. “Your wound is still scabbed over. It will need to stay bandaged for another few days.”

Eskel stares at her uncomprehendingly.

“You’re lucky,” she says. “You nearly bled out. Your heart stopped for over a minute. It was the chaos in your hillfolk blood that saved you.”

Eskel places a hand over his chest, soothed by the feeling of the heartbeat under his palm.

“Yennefer, your bedside manner needs work.” Triss appears on Eskel’s other side. “How are you feeling, Eskel?”

It all comes rushing back to Eskel— Jaskier’s death sentence, the alderman’s house, the vampire’s clawed hand around his throat, bleeding out on the floor while Triss and this other sorceress, Yennefer, hovered over him. He sits up, regretting it immediately when his head spins and his sore body protests.

“Jaskier?” His voice comes out strained and raspy.

“I’ll go get him.” It’s only then that Eskel notices the white-haired witcher standing in the doorway like a bodyguard. The White Wolf nods to Eskel, then heads outside.

Triss puts a gentle hand on Eskel’s shoulder and firmly pushes him back down onto the pillow. “You’ve been asleep for three days, Eskel. You need to take it easy.”

“Is he—”

“He’s fine,” Triss says. “Everyone is fine.”

“Except for the vampires.” Yennefer sounds very smug about that.

Eskel lets out a deep breath, which hurts. “Thank you.”

Triss’s expression softens. “I’m just glad we got to you in time. When I got back from Vizima and found your note, I was afraid that I was too late.”

Eskel shudders, remembering the feeling of Mikhail’s teeth sinking into him and the sight of that ghastly face. It’s something that he knows will haunt his nightmares for years to come.

The front door opens and Jaskier stands there, looking haggard. There are dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days. Something squeezes in Eskel’s chest at the sight of him. Eskel came so close to losing him but he’s here, alive, and he just wants to sink into his lover’s arms and forget that the last few days ever happened.

“Jask,” he croaks and the words hurt.

Something in Jaskier’s expression tightens.

“We’ll give you two a minute,” Triss murmurs and she and Yennefer sweep out of the house. Yennefer stops to murmur something to Jaskier, too low for Eskel to hear, and Jaskier’s jaw clenches.

As his lover approaches, Eskel notices that Jaskier is wearing his armor and carrying his two swords strapped to his back. It’s strange to see him in armor in the house; Jaskier usually takes it off as soon as he gets to Eskel’s farm and doesn’t put it back on until he leaves. Instead of walking into Eskel’s arms, Jaskier stops at the foot of his bed. There’s a strange stillness to Jaskier’s face that Eskel isn’t used to. This is the most witchery Jaskier has ever looked, Eskel realizes— armored, emotionless, and ready for battle.

“How do you feel?” Jaskier asks.

Eskel manages a small smile. “Alive.”

“You have Triss and Yennefer to thank for that. They put everything they had into saving you.” Jaskier’s Adam’s apple bobs.

“How are you?” Eskel asks.

Jaskier’s lips curl into a humorless smile. “Nothing hurt but my pride. You saved my life, Eskel.”

“All I did was get myself captured.”

“No, I would have hung if you hadn’t left that note for Triss.” Jaskier’s hand travels up to his own neck. “Thank you.”

“I knew, as soon as I heard that a witcher had been sentenced to death in Whitecliff that it was you,” Eskel says. “I knew something must have happened when you never showed up.”

“I sent a note,” Jaskier says. “But—”

“Mikhail intercepted it. I know.”

Jaskier nods, the impassivity on his face cracking. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything—”

“Yes, I did. I never should have sent you that letter in the first place. It was a stupid risk and it made you a target. Mikhail knew that if he threatened you, I would do anything he asked me to do. He nearly killed you because of me.”

Eskel hates the despair on Jaskier’s face. He would do anything to see the man he loves smile. “He’s dead now, Jask. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“We didn’t get the whole nest. When the others realized what was happening upstairs, they abandoned the fight and came to help us. A few bruxae and at least one katakan escaped.”

Eskel barely suppresses a shudder. He has no reason to think that anyone from Mikhail’s nest would come after him here, but the very thought leaves him cold. “So what does that mean?”

“It means Geralt and I are going to go hunt every single last one of the fuckers down and eviscerate them.” The look in Jaskier’s eyes is the coldest Eskel has ever seen. “They don’t get to walk away after what they did to all those people. What they almost did to you.”

“How long do you think that will take?” Eskel swallows back the swell of emotion gathering in his throat. If Jaskier is off killing vampires, he won’t be here with Eskel. And Eskel doesn’t want to let him out of his sight right now.

“I don’t know.” Jaskier shakes his head. “They’ve had quite the head start. They could be anywhere by now.”

“But you’ll come back afterward, right?” Eskel asks.

The way Jaskier’s expression shutters is answer enough. Eskel’s heart begins to pound painfully hard in his throat. Jaskier takes a deep breath and says, “I’m a witcher. I make enemies. It’s part of the job. I never thought I would bring that here to you. I never wanted that part of my life to touch you.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Eskel says, desperate to say _anything_ to stop what he knows is coming.

“If I didn’t do what they said, they were going to come here. They were going to torture you and kill you. How is that not my fault?” Jaskier closes his eyes. “I can’t risk you like that, Eskel. I can’t put you in harm’s way again. The easiest way to get to me is through you right now. If anyone else finds that out, they could come after you.”

“So you’re just going to leave.”

“If you were me, wouldn’t you do the same thing?”

“No,” Eskel says. “I would trust you to make decisions about your own safety.”

“Eskel, I don’t want to do this. If there was any other way to keep you safe, you know I’d never leave your side.”

Deep down, Eskel has always known this day would come, has known that he couldn’t keep Jaskier forever. Because Eskel is just a goat farmer and a disgraced, scarred soldier. He doesn’t get to rub elbows with witchers and sorceresses and former princesses. He doesn’t get grand, sweeping romances. He gets to live alone on his farm until the day he dies alone on his farm. He was foolish to think there was an ending for him that included growing old with Jaskier, that included waking up every day of his life to smiling eyes and a musical voice.

But just because he always knew it would come, it doesn’t make his heart any less broken.

When he’s able to speak, his voice sounds like a stranger’s. “If you’re going to go, I think you should go.”

Jaskier hesitates, then nods. “I’ll send word when it’s done. When they’re all dead.”

“Okay,” Eskel says hollowly.

“Goodbye, Eskel.” Jaskier’s voice cracks.

Eskel can’t look at him anymore, so he stares past him at a spiderweb in the corner. He doesn’t speak; if he opens his mouth, he’s going to say something embarrassing. He’s going to beg Jaskier not to go. So he stays silent as Jaskier walks out of the house and lets the door close behind him.

***

Jaskier and Geralt find the first of the escaped bruxae holed up in a brothel in Tretogor, her lips still slick with the blood of her latest victim, an unfortunate client of the brothel whose body is still cooling on the ground. Jaskier cuts her head off before she even realizes what’s happening.

***

In the weeks following Jaskier’s departure from the farm, Triss is a frequent visitor, ostensibly so she can check on the progress of his healing throat and give him more of the tonic he needs. Eskel’s neck now sports an ugly column of scar tissue, but he tells her not to worry about magicking it away. What does it matter if he has one more scar? The goats don’t care. His voice is slowly returning to normal, losing the raspy quality it’s had ever since the attack. He can talk without pain now, not that he has anyone but the goats and occasionally Triss to talk to.

Triss also puts up enough wards around the farm to blast any vampire who steps foot on Eskel’s land all the way to Nilfgaard, she tells him.

“Don’t think we have to worry about that anymore,” Eskel tells her. “After all, that’s why Jaskier left, right? So I won’t be a target.”

“Jaskier left because he’s a witcher, and they’re obligated to be emotionally constipated,” she says.

Despite the ache that’s lingered in his breast for weeks now, Eskel snorts with laughter.

Triss’s expression softens into a smile. “He’ll come around, Eskel. Jaskier loves you.”

“I know.” Eskel closes his eyes and pictures mismatched eyes and a sharp-toothed smile. “But sometimes, love isn’t enough.”

***

The next two bruxae are together. After they kill one, her sister manages to get her teeth into Geralt’s shoulder and clings on until Jaskier hacks her to death. They get Geralt to a healer and he’s fine, except for a new scar in his shoulder. Every time Jaskier looks at it, he feels a surge of guilt.

“Just a scar, Jask,” Geralt tells him when he catches Jaskier staring. “It’ll fade in fifty years or so.”

But Geralt’s days of accumulating scars are supposed to be over. He’s supposed to be retired. “If you want to go home, I won’t blame you,” Jaskier tells him.

His brother just gives him an unimpressed look. “Like fuck am I leaving you to deal with this by yourself.”

Jaskier should try to convince him, but he can’t bring himself to, not when he’s so glad not to be left alone.

***

When Mavis, Amelia, Gretta, and Liesl visit Eskel at Midsummer, the girls ask after Jaskier constantly. Eskel tries to smile and tell them that Jaskier is busy, that he’s a witcher and his job takes him all over the Continent, but Amelia isn’t mollified even a little bit. It’s not until Mavis reprimands her for whining and threatens not to let her have any honey cakes after dinner that she finally drops the subject.

“Where is Jaskier, really?” Mavis asks him that night, after the girls go to bed. “And what happened to your throat? Did he do that?”

There’s so much fury in his sister’s voice that Eskel has no doubt that if he told her that Jaskier had been the one to hurt him, she would pick up a shovel and go after the witcher herself to exact justice.

“Gods, no.” Eskel rubs at the scar tissue on his throat. “It was a vampire.”

He stays up late telling her the entire story and trying to drink away his sorrows. It doesn’t work. He goes to bed drunk and miserable instead of sober and miserable and wakes up hungover and miserable well past when he would normally be up, to hear the girls squealing and laughing outside.

“Don’t worry about the goats,” Mavis tells him when he sits up, groaning. “They’ve been taken care of. You had a friend come to visit. She’s outside with the girls.”

Eskel’s heart soars at the word “friend,” until he registers the “she.” It must be Triss. He drags himself out of bed, rinses his mouth out, and heads outside into the too-bright sunlight. But instead of Triss, it’s a young blond woman with brilliant green eyes leading around a beautiful black mare with all three girls on her back. When Eskel comes outside, the young woman looks up with a smile.

“Eskel,” she says. “You might not remember me, but—”

Eskel only has a vague memory of her, but the wolf’s head medallion around her neck and the two swords on her back tells him everything he needs to know. He ducks into an awkward bow. “Your Highness.”

Princess Cirilla grimaces. “Just Ciri, please. I’m not much of a princess these days.” She gestures to her breeches, armor, and scuffed boots.

“You’re a princess?” Amelia looks skeptical. “I thought you were a witcher.”

“Technically, I’m both,” Ciri tells her.

“Oh. Could I be both?”

“No,” Eskel says before Ciri can reply. “Go inside and wash up for breakfast.”

Amelia levels him with an unimpressed look.”We ate breakfast _hours_ ago, Uncle Eskel. Mama said to let you sleep because you’re a brokenhearted wreck.”

Wonderful. Great. “Then just go inside and see if your mother needs any help.”

“Ugh, fine.” Amelia rolls her eyes and hops down from the horse’s back. Ciri lifts Liesl and Gretta down and all three girls run inside.

“I’m here to check in,” Ciri tells Eskel once the girls are inside. “Make sure you’re doing okay.”

“Did Jaskier send you?” Eskel doesn’t know how he feels about that. It would be nice to have confirmation that Jaskier still gives a shit about him, if galling that Jaskier won’t come himself.

“Geralt, actually, but only because he knows Jaskier has been worried,” Ciri says. “Have you had any issues?”

Eskel thinks of all the nights he’s spent sitting alone in his house, staring into a long-warm mug of ale and trying not to think about Mikhail’s teeth sinking into him while he struggled helplessly. “Nothing you can help with.”

Her expression softens and she draws something out of her saddlebag. It’s a xenovox. “I brought this for you. Yennefer has its twin. If anything happens, if you have even the smallest inkling that you could be in danger, you call and she and I can be here in seconds, understand?”

Eskel takes the xenovox. He can see his reflection in the smooth metal. “Triss has wards all over the farm.”

“But you don’t always stay on the farm, do you?”

Eskel swallows. “The vampires…”

“Geralt and Jaskier have gotten three of the bruxae,” Ciri says. “There’s one bruxa and the katakan left alive. We have no reason to suspect they’d come after you, but better safe than sorry.”

Eskel takes a deep, steadying breath. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You all don’t have to look after me. I’m not Jaskier’s anymore. He made that pretty damn clear.”

She looks at him with sad eyes. “I don’t think that’s true, Eskel. You’ll always be Jaskier’s. That means you’re family.”

***

Geralt and Jaskier track the third bruxa all the way to Brugge and find that she’s taken up with a new nest of bruxae. The fight is a nasty one, made nastier by the fact that the bruxae take several villagers hostage when they realize that the witchers are coming. In the end, Jaskier and Geralt burn the nest to the ground and both witchers and civilians only escape with minor injuries. They’re allowed to stay the night in the barn of one of the men they rescued as thanks.

“Ciri went to see Eskel a couple of weeks ago,” Geralt tells Jaskier late that night, when they’re lying in the loft of the barn, listening to the sounds of the animals snuffling below and the drum of rain on the roof.

Jaskier is glad it’s dark so his brother can’t see his expression. Well, it’s Geralt, so he probably can. “Did she?”

“Gave him a xenovox, just in case he runs into trouble. Yennefer’s idea.”

“Thank you.”

“She stayed a couple of days with him. Apparently, one of his nieces wants to be a witcher princess now.”

Jaskier chuckles. “Sounds like Amelia. If a very opinionated ten year old shows up at Kaer Morhen, we’ll know where she came from.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything. The silence hangs heavy between them for a moment.

“How is he?” Jaskier finally asks hesitantly.

“Lonely.”

Jaskier grimaces. “You were supposed to tell me he was fine, Geralt. That he’s better off without me.”

“We’ve known each other our whole lives. Why would I start lying to you now?”

Jaskier stares into the darkness, a lump in his throat. “I miss him.”

“Then do something about it.”

“What would you have me do?”

“What you told me to do with Yenn a thousand times. Fucking fix it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Hm. Never is.”

Jaskier closes his eyes. “Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Night, Jask.”

***

It’s not unusual for Lil Bleater to get loose and go wandering over to the neighboring farms. The sheep farmers’ children return her to Eskel at least once a week. But about a month after Ciri’s visit, Eskel hears a familiar bleat outside his door and groans. Lil Bleater is supposed to be grazing in the pasture with the other goats, not outside of the door.

“One of these days, Bleats, a fucking wyvern is going to get you.” He flings open his front door and finds himself face-to-face with an unfamiliar witcher, who’s holding Lil Bleater in his arms. The witcher is tall, with a dark beard covering pockmarked cheeks and eyes that are a greenish yellow. His medallion is of a griffin, not a wolf.

“Coën?” Eskel asks tentatively.

The Griffin witcher inclines his head. “And you must be Eskel. I’ve heard good things.”

“Likewise,” Eskel says.

“I caught your young lady here getting into your neighbor’s pigsty. I thought you might want her returned to you.”

Lil Bleater, who is absolutely filthy, looks very smug as she begins to chew on Coën’s beard.

“You’re a disgrace to goats everywhere,” Eskel tells her.

“I’ve had an easier time wrangling a nest of arachnae,” Coën says.

“Yeah, that sounds like Bleats. If you come in, we can do something about your armor. Looks like she got pigsty all over it.”

Coën smiles. “I would appreciate that, thank you.”

Coën stays for a couple of days and helps Eskel replace a fence that’s fallen down. He’s good company, quiet and scrupulously polite, but with a fantastically dry sense of humor. Eskel manages to make it until the second day before he asks about Jaskier.

“Last I heard, he and Geralt were in Brugge,” Coën tells him. “They’ve hunted down the last of the bruxae and are on the katakan’s trail now.”

“And he’s okay?”

“He seems to be.” Coën hesitates. “I could pass on your… regards, if you wish.”

“No.” Eskel looks away. “No, that’s fine.”

***

Geralt and Jaskier are in Lyria when the katakan they’ve been searching for finds them, apparently tiring of being the hunted instead of the hunter. Jaskier is returning from the outhouse behind the inn where he’s staying when something slams into him, knocking him to the ground, and his vision fills with teeth, claws, and glowing red eyes.

Lying flat on his back in the mud, Jaskier sees Eskel’s beautiful face and he aches for what he’ll never see again.

And then there’s a roar of rage and Geralt is there. By the time Jaskier gets to his feet, the katakan is already dead and Geralt is casting Igni to incinerate the remains.

“I had that handled,” Jaskier wheezes.

Geralt gives him a skeptical look. “Are you hurt?”

“No, just fucking filthy.” Jaskier brushes himself off. “That’s what I get for wearing my best doublets on hunts, I suppose.”

“That’s what you get for _having_ a best doublet.”

“Not all of us can wear black at the time and look brooding and mysterious, Geralt.”

“Hm.” Geralt glances down at the smoldering corpse. “So, it’s over.”

Jaskier takes a deep, shaking breath, “Yeah, I guess it is.”

***

Summer is drawing to a close when Eskel is returning from the market in Gors Velen and finds a witcher standing on his roof.

"You had a leak.” The witcher, who is shorter and lither than the other witchers Eskel has met, with light brown skin and a neatly trimmed beard, calls down to him.

The roof has had a leak for years. “Uh, thank you?”

“No problem.” The witcher leaps from the roof. Eskel flinches, but the witcher lands gracefully on his feet and straightens up, grinning. ”I’m Aiden.”

“Nice to meet you.” Eskel takes his offered hand. “If you’re Aiden, then I’m guessing Lambert is—”

“Fucking _fuck_!” A burly redheaded witcher comes stalking out of the barn. “One of those damn goats got into my saddlebags and ate all my hardtack.”

“I see you met Lil Bleater,” Eskel says.

“Lil Asshole is more like it.” Lambert looks disgruntled. “So, you’re the goat farmer my brother’s being a dumbass over.”

“What he means by that is we’re very pleased to meet you,” Aiden says.

Eskel’s lips twitch. “Have you met your namesake yet, Lambert?”

“My namesake?” The witcher’s brow furrows.

“Lambert the goat. Jaskier named him after you.”

As Aiden bursts into laughter, Lambert grumbles, “That fucking shithead.”

Aiden and Lambert only stay a few hours, which is plenty for Eskel. He likes them both, but they’re a bit exhausting, between Aiden’s tendency to scale every high surface he can find and Lambert’s constant bursts of indignation. He sends them off with more food as a thank you for fixing a roof and apology for Lil Bleater eating their supplies.

“Jaskier will come around eventually,” Lambert tells Eskel before he leaves. “He’s always been an idiot, but he’s always an idiot who does the right thing.”

Eskel swallows back the sudden tightness in his throat. Because for the first time since he met Jaskier, he’s starting to get used to being alone again. And that hurts almost as much as Jaskier leaving him.

***

“What are you going to do now?” Geralt asks two days after the katakan dies, while he and Jaskier are saddling up their horses.

Jaskier looks up from surreptitiously slipping Roach sugar cubes— the poor girl deserves them for putting up with his grumpy brother— and shrugs. “I don’t know. You? Heading back to Toussaint, I imagine?”

Geralt nods. “And you? Going to Velen?”

“No, I was thinking of maybe heading to the coast. Haven’t been to Cidaris in years.”

“Hm.” Geralt’s lips thin in disapproval.

“Oh, don’t grunt at me, Geralt.”

“You should head to Velen.”

Jaskier’s heart squeezes in his chest. “I can’t.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Geralt, please don’t tell me that after all these years, you want to have a heart to heart about my love life.”

“I don’t.”

“Excellent, then we’re in agreement.” Jaskier swings himself up on Pegasus’s back.

Geralt positions himself in front of Pegasus, arms folded over his chest. Pegasus, the traitor, headbutts him fondly instead of plowing him over.

“What?” Jaskier demands. “What do you want from me, Geralt?”

“For you to stop being a fucking idiot.”

“Well, that seems unlikely.”

“You love him.”

“Yes.”

“Then go to Velen and be with him.”

Jaskier closes his eyes. “He almost died because of me.”

“No, he almost died because of Mikhail.”

“You don’t get it.”

“Guess you should explain it then.”

“You’re in love with Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg!”

“Thanks for explaining that.”

Jaskier growls in a very Geralt-like way, then immediately regrets it. “She’s as powerful as you are, if not more. Nothing can fucking touch her. If a vampire tried to kidnap her, she would make vampire hash of it in seconds.”

Geralt is quiet for a long moment. “You think nothing can touch Yenn? You know how many times she nearly died during the war with Nilfgaard? You know how fucking terrified I was for her and Ciri for years?”

Jaskier grimaces. “It was different.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Geralt says and when Jaskier opens his eyes, his brother is swinging up onto Roach’s back. “You love someone, you’re going to be afraid of something happening to them. Staying away from Eskel won’t fix that. All you’re doing is punishing the man you love for nearly getting killed.”

Jaskier flinches.

“You’re hurting yourself,” Geralt says. “And you’re hurting him. Figure your shit out, Jaskier, before it’s too late.”

And then Geralt rides away, leaving Jaskier and Pegasus in a cloud of dust.

***

The days are getting shorter and colder. Eskel is preparing for another long winter, trying not to think of this time last year, when he and Jaskier were spending those last magical few weeks together. When it gets cold enough, Eskel takes out his green woolen sweater and wonders if wherever Jaskier is, he’s wearing the red sweater that Eskel gave him. It’s a silly, sentimental thought and Eskel tries not to dwell on it.

When someone knocks on Eskel’s door one afternoon, he can’t stop the sudden swell of hope. He knows it’s not Jaskier; Jaskier wouldn’t knock. But that doesn’t stop Eskel’s heart from leaping into his throat as he crosses to the door.

Geralt of Rivia stands there, clad in black armor and looking uncomfortable.

Eskel’s heart plummets to somewhere in the region of his belly button. “Jaskier?” he croaks, because the last he heard, Jaskier was traveling through Brugge with Geralt, and if Geralt is here without him…

For a moment, Geralt looks confused, then his eyes widen. “He’s fine. I mean, he was the last time I saw him. I was hoping he was here.”

“He’s not.” Eskel leans against the door frame, fighting with the surge of myriad emotions swirling through him.

“Of course he’s fucking not.” Geralt sighs.

“When did you see him last?”

“In Lyria last month. The katakan is dead.”

Tension that Eskel didn’t realize he’s been carrying in his shoulders for months now releases. “Thank fuck.”

“Mikhail’s whole nest is gone now,” Geralt says.

“Thank you.”

Geralt shifts from foot to foot, like Eskel’s gratitude makes him uncomfortable. “Least we could do.”

Eskel resists the urge to touch the scar on his throat. “Why did you think Jaskier would be here?”

“Because I was hoping I’d talked some fucking sense into him. Last time I saw him, I… said some things I regret.” Geralt gets an expression on his face like he’s swallowed a lemon. “Want to go get a drink?”

It’s been over a week since Eskel has talked to anyone who wasn’t a goat. “I’d like that.”

***

The people of Ashling Grove have no idea what to do when the famous White Wolf walks into their dingy little tavern. People turn to gawp at him and Eskel as they settle into a table in the corner and Eskel goes to get them two ales.

In the short ride from his farm into town, Eskel has already figured out that Geralt has very little in common with Jaskier. For once, he hardly says a word, instead doing most of his communication with grunts and a very expressive pair of eyebrows. For another, he hardly seems to notice the stares of the people around him and when the loudmouth drunk who told Eskel about Jaskier being sentenced to death starts loudly opining about “mutants,” Geralt only snorts derisively.

“How was Jaskier, last time you saw him?” Eskel can’t help but ask. He wishes he were a stronger person, one who didn’t give a damn about his former lover, but he’s not there yet.

“Fine. Guess he went to the coast after all.”

Eskel pictures Jaskier on a beach somewhere, wind in his hair and sand between his toes.

“Thanks for coming all the way here to tell me about the katakan,” he says.

“Hm, no problem. Been a long time since I’ve been to this part of the Continent. Last time I was in Velen was during Nilfgaard’s occupation.”

“Can’t imagine why you wouldn’t want to come back,” Eskel says dryly.

Geralt snorts. “I wanted to talk to you about Jaskier.”

Of course he does. Eskel puts down his ale. “Look, I appreciate everything your family has done for me over the past few months. The company has been nice. But I’m doing fine. I’ve gotten used to Jaskier not being around.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Eskel grimaces. “What’s the alternative?”

“Jaskier is…” Geralt is quiet for a long moment, clearly searching for the right word. “He feels more deeply than most witchers. Most humans, too. The mutation that helps the rest of us suppress our emotions didn’t do shit for him.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“It can be hard for him. He was taught to be one way, but all his instincts are telling him the opposite. When we were younger, he was always worried that he wasn’t witcher enough. Wasn’t good enough. Took him a long time to realize that he just had to be a different type of witcher, he couldn’t be like Vesemir and me. “

Eskel doesn’t say anything, just stares into his ale.

“When you’re a witcher, you have to get used to death,” Geralt continues. “Jaskier never has. He remembers every person he failed to save, every boy in our cohort who didn’t make it through the Trials. He carries all of them with him. When Kaer Morhen fell, it hit him harder than any of us.”

Sometimes, Eskel forgets how old Jaskier is. Now he tries to imagine it— living through centuries, seeing far too much death than one person ever should. For someone like Jaskier, that can’t be easy.

“Doesn’t really matter in the end,” Eskel says. “He left. I didn’t tell him to go.”

Geralt looks down into his ale. He doesn’t seem like the type of man who’s comfortable with emotional conversations and Eskel feels a prickle of warmth for Jaskier’s strange, serious brother.

“I hope that when he figures things out, that you’ll be willing to at least hear him out,” Geralt says after a long moment of silence. “I’m not asking you to give him another chance, because that’s not my place. But I hope you’ll at least think about it.”

Eskel swallows back the bitter feeling in his throat. “Don’t think it will come to that.”

“You didn’t see his face when your heart stopped,” Geralt says. “I’ve never seen him look like that. Not after the Trials, not when Kaer Morhen fell. When he thought he had lost you, it broke his heart.”

 _“Then why did he leave?”_ Eskel wants to demand. _“If he couldn’t bear to lose me, why did he walk away?”_

Instead, he says, “I’ll think about it.”

Geralt nods. “Thank you. He’s a good man.”

Eskel swallows. “He’s the best man I’ve ever met.”

***

Jaskier goes to the coast. He tries to feel soothed by the sounds of the waves against the shore and the wind ruffling his hair. He takes on a few contracts for sirens and drowners. He finds a charming little inn where the proprietor lets him sing for his supper. It should be peaceful. It should be everything he needs.

Instead, he finds his thoughts traveling back to Velen and to the man waiting for him there. No, not waiting, he tells himself. Eskel has certainly given up on Jaskier ever returning. Jaskier wouldn’t want Eskel to pine after him. Eskel deserves better than that, deserves the life that Jaskier almost let get stolen from him.

When it’s time, he heads for Kaer Morhen and meets Geralt at the base of the Blue Mountains. He expects his brother to bring up their argument in Lyria, but Geralt just gives him the usual greeting and they begin their ascent.

The whole family is in Kaer Morhen this winter. Even Keira has joined Aiden and Lambert and Ciri brought Cerys. Jaskier is faced with a winter of being surrounded by almost all of the people he loves, and he can’t even feel anything but tired. He aches for what he can’t have. He chose to push Eskel away, but it’s still agony every time he goes through his bags and finds Eskel’s red sweater and the wolf’s head medallion Jaskier crafted for him.

“You’re normally the fun one in the keep,” Keira tells him one night when she shows up at his bedroom door and he turns her away. “I thought Triss was being a romantic when she said you’d gotten your heart broken.”

Jaskier offers her a wan smile. “I broke my own heart, my dear.”

“Then why don’t you go unbreak it?”

“If only it were that simple.”

She rolls her eyes and mutters, _”Witchers,”_ under her breath before walking away.

Jaskier fills his days with White Gull and sad songs about hazel eyes and gentle hands. He grows a beard that even has Vesemir gently suggesting he shave his damn face. He knows he’s being maudlin and dramatic. He knows he needs to move on. He’ll allow himself one winter to wallow, he tells himself. One winter to mourn everything he had with Eskel, and then he’ll move on. He’ll go back to the Path a stronger witcher.

Unless his family kills him first.

“Uncle Jask,” Ciri tells him when she finds him in the library strumming his lute. “You know I love you.”

“And I love you too, pup.”

“But you really need to shave your face, put down the White Gull, and stop singing terrible love songs.”

“They’re not—”

“They are _terrible_. I’m begging you. I’ve been telling Cerys stories about how fun you are for years, and now you’re just making everyone miserable.”

Jaskier sniffs. “I’m sorry I’m not living up to your tall tales, Cirilla.”

She gives him an unimpressed look that manages to have equal parts Yennefer, Geralt, and Queen Calanthe in it. “Come down for dinner tonight.” It’s not a request.

Jaskier sighs. “We’ll see. It depends on if I make any progress on this song.”

“This song is shit. Come down for dinner.”

Two days later, Lambert threatens to throw him out of a window if he hears another warble out of Jaskier. Jaskier only warbles louder in defiance.

It’s the dead of winter when Yennefer finally snaps.

Jaskier knows he’s been getting on his sister-in-law’s last nerve all winter. Yennefer, who used to make a habit of hosting magical orgies for the aesthetic, has very little patience for other people’s dramatics. She and Jaskier have always had a relationship based on affectionately annoying each other and it works for them, but lately there’s been more annoyance than affection. So when Jaskier notices her sequestering herself with Keira and Ciri more and more often, he assumes there’s either Lodge business to discuss or they’re avoiding him. When Triss visits, the four of them and Cerys hole up in the library for a whole evening with a silencing spell on the doors. Jaskier doesn’t even see Triss before she portals back to Gors Velen.

He’s sitting on the top of the last remaining tower at Kaer Morhen, strumming his lute with numb fingers and feeling terribly sorry for himself, when Yennefer appears.

“Alright,” she growls. “That’s fucking _enough._ " 

And before Jaskier can say a word, she opens up a portal and hauls him through.

***

There’s a storm coming to Velen. The clouds hang low in the sky, dark with the promise of snow, and Eskel spends the day securing the animals in the barn and boarding up the windows. There’s already two feet of snow on the ground and he’s not looking forward to more, but such are winters in Velen. He has a pot of venison stew on the hearth and is keeping himself busy reading a book and trying not to think about Jaskier when a portal opens up in the middle of the room. He looks up, expecting Triss.

Instead, Jaskier stumbles out, cursing and clutching his lute to his chest.

Eskel blinks. Jaskier looks… well, terrible. He’s pale with dark circles under his eyes and he’s sporting a rather unfortunate beard. He smells strongly of alcohol. He’s also spitting mad.

“Yennefer!” He whirls towards the portal. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Yennefer of Vengerberg steps through the portal. She’s a good six inches shorter than Jaskier, but she somehow seems to tower over him. “I am tired,” she says. “I am tired of the singing, tired of the sad lute playing, tired of the sad sighing and staring out the window mournfully. You did this to yourself, you idiot, so you will fix this yourself."

Jaskier makes an offended gasping noise.

“You are going to talk to him.” Yennefer points at Eskel. “You are going to figure your shit out. And once you learn to act like a fucking grown up again, then you may return to Kaer Morhen.”

“Yennefer.” Jaskier sounds desperate. He hasn’t even looked at Eskel yet and it shouldn’t hurt so much that he’s so frantic to not be stuck in a house with Eskel. “This really isn’t necessary.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “No, it really is. There’s already one brooding, self-sacrificing moron in the Wolf School, and Geralt doesn’t need any competition for the title. We’re not going to sit back and let you spend the rest of your life mourning something that you threw away in the name of being noble.”

“We?”

“I talked about this with the others. We all agreed it was the best course of action.”

“Oh, so you took a poll on how best to interfere with my life?”

“No, we took a poll on how best to help you when you were locked away in the library, drinking too much White Gull and weeping over your lute.” For the first time, Yennefer looks to Eskel. “Any provisions you use to keep this ignoramus fed and warm will be repaid in full, of course.”

Eskel has to struggle for a moment to find his voice. “I appreciate that.”

“Look, I’ll cut it out with the love songs,” Jaskier says. “I won’t touch another drop of White Gull all winter.”

“No, you won’t,” Yennefer says. “Because like I already said, you won’t be returning to Kaer Morhen until you’ve figured your shit out.”

And without another word, she turns and steps through the portal. Jaskier starts to lurch after her, but the portal closes in his face.

There’s a long silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire on the hearth and the howling of the wind picking up outside. Slowly, Jaskier turns to Eskel, wearing a terrible pantomime of a smile.

“Hello, Eskel,” he says.

Eskel has to swallow back the complicated mixture of love and grief and anger that summons up. After all these months, the best that Jaskier, one of the most poetic people Eskel has ever met, can do is a “hello?” Not an apology. Not a plea for forgiveness. Not even an explanation. Suddenly, the house seems too small and too cramped and Eskel can’t be in here anymore.

“I need to go check on the goats,” he tells Jaskier and slams out of the house, into the snow that’s just beginning to fall.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, this fic is almost over! I'll be back next week with the eighth and final chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One final thank you to everyone for all your lovely comments, especially those of you who have taken the time to comment every week. I've been blown away by the reaction to this fic. I'm so glad so many of you enjoyed this fluffy-ish little AU, which ended up significantly longer and less fluffy than I originally intended.
> 
> Thank you to KHansen for betaing!

Eskel is outside checking on the goats for a long time, making it abundantly clear that he’s avoiding his unexpected visitor. Jaskier can’t really blame him; he would like to be able to avoid himself right now.

He’s filled with restless energy as he paces the length of the house, surveying his surroundings. Nothing has changed in the months since he was last here, save for the windows being boarded up in anticipation of the winter storm Jaskier can feel hanging heavy in the air, like a weight that bogs down each breath he takes. The house smells like the stew simmering on the stove and Jaskier is reminded of his first night here, of Eskel tending to his broken leg while dinner cooked.

There’s a sound of a portal opening up behind him and Jaskier whirls around, thinking that Yennefer changed her mind, or more likely, that Triss or Ciri decided to take pity on him. Instead, a tiny portal opens up at the foot of the bed and his bags appear. Jaskier opens his mouth to call out, but the portal is already gone.

“I’m going to write the Continent’s catchiest song about a violet-eyed sorceress who victimizes poor, innocent witchers,” Jaskier announces to the room with venom. “See if I don’t, Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

Unsurprisingly, there’s no reply.

Jaskier goes to rifle through his bags. His heart gives a little lurch when he finds the red sweater and the medallion he made for Eskel at the top, even though he knows he had them stashed at the bottom where he wouldn’t run across them. Fucking Yennefer. 

Taking a deep breath, he carefully rolls up the sweater, wrapping the medallion in it, then digs for his Golden Oriole. Vesemir wouldn’t approve of such a reckless use of potions, but Vesemir has also probably never been stuck inebriated in his ex-lover’s house. By the time Eskel slams back into the house, Jaskier has mostly sobered up and regrets the decision to take the Golden Oriole immensely. Being drunk would ease the sting when Eskel doesn’t spare him a glance on his way to stir the stew.

Jaskier clears his throat. “I know a mage in Vizima who may be willing to portal me back to Kaer Morhen. I can leave at first light. It’s what, two days’ journey on foot?”

Eskel shakes his head. “We’re about to get a storm, Jaskier. The whole area’s going to be covered in snow by tomorrow morning. It won’t be safe to travel.”

“I’m a witcher. I think I can—”

“You can freeze to death, same as any man,” Eskel says firmly.

Jaskier knows that Eskel is right, as much as it pains him. “So, I suppose I’m stuck here.”

He realizes immediately that it’s the wrong thing to say when Eskel’s shoulders tense. Before he can apologize, Eskel says, “Suppose you are.”

Jaskier takes a deep breath. “I’ll do my best to stay out of your way. I have my…” He glances at his things and realizes that Yennefer didn’t send his bed roll. He’s really going to have to write her an _exceptionally_ nasty song. “Well, I can always sleep upstairs.”

“Going to be cold as balls upstairs,” Eskel grumbles. “It’s fine, just stay on your own side of the bed.”

The thought of sleeping next to Eskel in bed and not being able to touch him is unbearable, but Jaskier isn’t a strong enough man to say no. “I’ll do my best.”

“You always do. Want some stew?”

“If you're willing to spare some.”

“You’re stuck here. I’m not going to starve you.” Eskel still hasn’t looked at Jaskier, hasn’t so much as glanced his way. Jaskier would do anything to have those beautiful hazel eyes on him, to see Eskel smile, maybe even to hear him laugh, but he’s lost the right to ask for those kinds of things. He doesn’t have the right to ask anything of Eskel.

“How have you been?” Jaskier asks as Eskel scoops stew into two bowls.

“Fine.”

“Good,” Jaskier says. “Excellent. Glad you’ve been fine.”

No answer.

“I’ve been fine too,” Jaskier says. “Well, I suppose it depends on your definition of ‘fine.’ Fine is really a sliding scale, don’t you think? I mean, when most people say they’re fine, what they really mean is—”

“Jaskier, what do you want from me?” Eskel doesn’t sound angry. It would be easier if he sounded angry. No, he just sounds tired and that twists at Jaskier’s insides.

“I don’t want anything. Just, uh, stew.” The attempt at levity falls flat.

Eskel hands him the bowl of stew without looking at him. It looks delicious and reminds Jaskier that he hasn’t eaten since the day before, but he can’t bring himself to take a bite.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation,” Jaskier says softly.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“You know that’s not true.” Jaskier takes a deep breath. “I only wanted to protect you, Eskel.”

“By being on the other side of the Continent?” Eskel asks flatly.

“By hunting down all the people who tried to hurt you. They’re all dead now. The katakan took a while to track down, but we found the fucker in Lyria.”

Eskel hasn’t touched his stew either, instead holding the bowl in both hands. “Yeah, Geralt told me.”

“Geralt was here?”

“Your entire family has been here. First Coën, then Ciri— Amelia adores her, by the way— then Aiden and Lambert, then Geralt. Triss stops by every other week. She brought her friend, Keira, once or twice.”

Emotion swells in Jaskier’s throat. He knew Ciri had visited, but the knowledge that they’ve all been taking turns checking in on Eskel warms him. They’re making sure that Eskel is safe, even when Jaskier isn’t around to do it himself. Jaskier doesn't know how he’ll ever repay them.

“Good,” he says a bit hoarsely. “I’m glad they were here for you.”

“Someone had to be.”

The sudden venom in Eskel’s voice makes Jaskier flinch. “Eskel—”

For the first time, Eskel turns to look at Jaskier and his expression is full of more hurt and anger than Jaskier has ever seen from him. “I thought I was going to die there. I thought that I was going to watch you hang and then a vampire was going to drink me dry. And when I woke up, all I wanted was you. Because that’s what happens when you nearly die. You want the person you love most with you. Instead, you told me that you didn’t want to be with me anymore and you fucking _left_.”

“I thought it was for the best,” Jaskier whispers through suddenly numb lips.

“For who?” Eskel barks. “Who was this best for? Was it best for me when I had nightmares about having my throat torn out and woke up to an empty bed? Or when I could barely speak for weeks?”

“I couldn’t let them go, Eskel. They just would have hurt more people.”

“I know,” Eskel says. “But it would have helped if you had at least wanted to stay. Or if I had known you were coming back.”

“I did want to stay. I just—” Jaskier breaks off, reliving that awful moment where he heard Eskel’s heart stop beating, the gut-wrenching knowledge that he had let his lover die.

“All I wanted was for you to be safe,” he finally manages to say. “That’s all I’ll ever want.”

Eskel lets out a shaky breath and turns away. “Just eat your stew, Jaskier.”

Jaskier doesn’t taste a single bite.

***

When Eskel wakes up, the first thing he’s aware of is the weight of a warm body next to him and the familiar sound of Jaskier’s breathing. Smiling into his pillow, he reaches out and wraps his arm around his lover’s torso, pulling him close. Jaskier makes a surprised noise as Eskel nuzzles into him, reveling in the familiar softness of his hair and the rasp of his… beard?

Abruptly, the grogginess clears from his mind and reality hits him in the face. When he opens his eyes, Jaskier is watching him, expression guarded.

“Good morning,” Jaskier says softly.

Eskel lets go of him and slides out of bed faster than he’s ever moved in his life. “Have to go—”

“Feed the goats,” Jaskier finishes for him. “Yeah, I know.”

The snow is still coming down hard enough that Eskel can’t even see the barn. When he goes to feed the animals, he has to follow the rope he tied up between the house and the barn. The snow is already up to his thigh, with no sign of slowing down, and the wind whips brutally at his face. He finds the goats, Scorpion, and the donkey all huddled miserably inside the barn. Lil Bleater gives him a particularly pathetic look and he gives her an extra scratch on the head.

“It'll be over soon, Bleats,” he tells her. “Think I can stay in here with you all day?”

She head butts his thigh.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs and makes his way back to the house.

Eskel would almost prefer another emotional outburst over the silence that’s stretched between him and Jaskier since the night before. There’s not much to do in an isolated farmhouse in the middle of a blizzard, so they both do their best to keep themselves busy. For Eskel, that means making some soap, tidying up, and trying and failing to read the adventure novel that Mavis sent him. For Jaskier, it means a lot of sharpening his sword and trying to meditate. Mercifully, it also means shaving that scraggly beard.

Seeing his former lover again summons up such a complicated mix of emotions that Eskel can hardly think. There are times when he looks up, catches a glimpse of Jaskier across the room, and almost forgets how angry he is. He never thought that he had fallen out of love with Jaskier— he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to fall out of love with Jaskier— but sharing tight quarters with the other man drives home how desperately Eskel still adores him.

The day is a long, silent one, with the bare minimum of stilted conversation passing between them. Eskel never thought Jaskier was capable of long, awkward silences until now, but the witcher seems to respect Eskel’s need for space. Eskel almost wishes he wouldn’t. He alternates between wanting Jaskier to get out of his sight and wanting the other man to close the distance between them, apologize for everything, and take Eskel in his arms.

It’s near dark when Eskel goes to feed the animals dinner. The approaching nighttime would be a relief— there are no awkward silences in sleep— except another night of sleeping next to Jaskier sounds like torture. Gods forbid Eskel tries to cuddle Jaskier again in his sleep; he might spontaneously combust from shame.

The animals are restless after over a day of being cooped up in the barn and Eskel takes the time to talk to them soothingly, offering pets and sugar cubes as peace offerings. He looks around for Lil Bleater, knowing that she has to be going out of her mind.

He doesn’t see her anywhere.

“Bleats?” Eskel calls, heart rate picking up. There’s no way she got out. He had the doors secured and the windows boarded up.

But Lil Bleater has always had a talent for mischief unparalleled by either man or beast.

Eskel stumbles out of the barn. The snow is still coming down too hard for him to see more than a foot in front of him and the roar of the wind is deafening. The sun hasn’t quite set yet, but it may as well be full dark for how well Eskel can see.

“Bleats!” he shouts, but his voice is lost in the wind. “Lil Bleater!”

Even if there was an answering bleat, he wouldn’t be able to hear it. Goats are hardy animals— and Lil Bleater is hardier than most— but she won’t survive long out in this. Depending on how long she’s been out, she could already be…

No, he can’t think like that.

“Lil Bleater!” he shouts again and heads out into the snow.

***

Jaskier is trying and failing to meditate— like he’s been trying and failing to meditate for most of the day— when he hears Eskel shout for Lil Bleater, the panic audible in his voice even over the wind. Jaskier is on his feet in an instant. It doesn’t take a mage to divine what’s going on. Lil Bleater, escape artist and menace that she is, must have gotten loose. Jaskier wraps himself in his coat and hurries outside. Through the snow, he can vaguely make out the shape of Eskel, wandering away from the barn. With a curse, Jaskier chases after him.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier demands, grabbing Eskel by the shoulders.

“Lil Bleater—”

“Wandered out into a blizzard, so you’re going to wander after her?”

“I can’t leave her out here!” Eskel sounds frantic. “It’s almost nightfall. She’ll freeze.”

Jaskier feels a surge of equal parts exasperation and affection for this man, who was about to wander out into deadly conditions for a goat. “So will you. Go back to the house.”

Eskel turns on Jaskier with a disbelieving look. “I can’t just—”

“I’m not going to let you freeze to death, not even for Lil Bleater. I’ll go find her. She can’t have gotten far. The snow is deeper than she is tall.”

Eskel hesitates. “I don’t want to lose her too, Jaskier.”

 _Too._ Jaskier has the sudden urge to pull him close and never let him go, but this is neither the time nor the place. “You’re not going to lose her, I promise, Eskel. I’ll bring her back. Do you trust me?”

Eskel doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then go inside and build up the fire. We’ll need it.”

Eskel nods, then hesitantly reaches out to squeeze Jaskier’s arm. Even after he withdraws his hand, Jaskier can feel the warmth of the touch.“Be careful.”

“Of course.” Jaskier waits to make sure Eskel is on his way back to the house before closing his eyes and trying to focus on his surroundings. The wind makes it hard to hear anything else; he can barely hear the heartbeats of the animals in the barn and Eskel. If there’s another heartbeat out there, he can’t hear it.

“You better be okay,” he murmurs. “Buttercup and Dandelion don’t pull shit like this.”

He starts walking, making his way slowly through the deep snow. If Lil Bleater left tracks, they’ve been long covered. Jaskier moves in a circle around the barn, fanning out methodically. With every step, his sense of unease increases. How long could a goat last in these conditions? And how long has Lil Bleater been out here?

He doesn’t notice that night has fallen until well after it’s dark. He’s now walking in a circle a good fifty feet from the barn, out in the paddock where the animals graze. Part of him knows that it’s unlikely that Lil Bleater could have survived this long lost in the snow, but he’s not ready to admit that yet. For his part, he’s reached the point of cold where his fingers and toes are starting to burn. He needs to go inside soon; even witchers can get hypothermia.

But then he imagines the look on Eskel’s face if Jaskier tells him that he couldn’t find Lil Bleater and that he gave up on her. It would probably look a lot like how Eskel looked when Jaskier told him that he was leaving and wouldn’t be coming back. Jaskier can’t break his heart twice.

Jaskier closes his eyes again and listens. All he hears are the sounds of the animals in the barn, the steady thrum of their heartbeats, their soft bleats and snuffles, the sound of them bumping against the walls. Jaskier listens for a long moment, focusing until he can discern each heartbeat.

One is weaker than the others.

Jaskier turns and runs towards the barn as fast as he can when the snow is nearly to his hip, repeating a silent chant of _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_ as he goes.

He finds Lil Bleater huddled against the side of the barn, like she immediately realized her mistake and tried to get back in, but failed. He must have walked by her a dozen times, but couldn’t see her through the snow. She’s cold and stiff and for a terrible moment, Jaskier thinks he’s too late. But then he hears her heartbeat, weak but steady. Jaskier gathers her close, wrapping his arms around her.

“You terrible menace,” he tells her. “You fucking better be okay.”

He starts towards Eskel’s house.

***

Eskel builds up the fire, then waits for Jaskier’s return. He waits for a long time, torn between terror, hope, and grief. When he can’t stand there anymore, fighting the urge to go out and search for Lil Bleater himself, he gets to work. He goes to Jaskier’s bags, knowing that the witcher will want a warm, dry change of clothes when he gets back inside. Eskel opens Jaskier’s bag and pulls out the red sweater he lent Jaskier the year before. A wolf’s head medallion tumbles to the floor.

Curious, Eskel picks it up, running his thumb over the snarling face of the wolf. When he flips it over, he sees a line of Elder script etched on the back. Other than that, it’s identical to the one Jaskier wears around his neck. He wonders what Jaskier is doing with a second Wolf school medallion, but then reminds himself it doesn’t matter right now. Putting aside the medallion, he fishes out a fresh pair of smallclothes, breeches, and warm socks and sets them and the sweater down by the fire to keep them warm.

A moment later, the door flies open, bringing with it a gust of icy air, Eskel whirls around to find Jaskier standing in the doorway, his coat caked in snow and ice. And clutched to his chest is Lil Bleater.

“Bleats!” Eskel rushes to them. Lil Bleater is very still and when Eskel takes her into his arms, she’s far too stiff and cold.

“She’s alive,” Jaskier murmurs and Eskel nearly weeps with relief.

He bundles Lil Bleater in blankets and sets her down in front of the fire, heartened when she stirs and bleats weakly.

He strokes her head, murmuring, “I’m going to make a fucking pair of gloves out of you, you little idiot.”

“I want a scarf.” Jaskier’s teeth are audibly chattering.

Eskel looks around and sees that Jaskier is far too pale, with lips that are starting to turn blue and frost clinging to his eyelashes and eyebrows. “Get out of your wet clothes,” he orders the witcher. “You’re going to get frostbite.”

Jaskier tries to cock an eyebrow, but he’s shivering too violently for it to have any effect. “Trying to get me naked?”

Eskel gives him an unimpressed look.

Jaskier shrugs apologetically and begins peeling away the wet layers of his clothing, leaving them in a heap by the door. Eskel tries not to look. He really does, but Jaskier is as inhumanly pretty as ever and it’s hard not to stare.

Forcing himself to get a grip, Eskel says, “I got out some dry clothes for you.”

“Thank you.” Jaskier glances over at Eskel. “You know, skin to skin contact—”

“Don’t push your luck.”

Jaskier lets out a weak laugh. “And here I expected to return triumphantly with the beautiful maiden and be greeted with accolades.”

“Did you?” Eskel tries not to smile, but his lips curve upwards of their own volition.

“Alas, I expected too much.” Jaskier starts towards the bed. Icy droplets of water cling to his shoulders and back. Eskel shouldn’t be staring, but he can’t drag his eyes away.

“Come here,” Eskel says.

Jaskier turns to him with wide eyes.

“You get into your clothes like that, you’re just going to get them cold and wet,” Eskel says, peeling off his own sweater. He doesn’t want to get it wet. “Come warm up by the fire.”

Jaskier’s eyes drop to his naked torso. “Are you sure?”

“No,” Eskel says simply. “Don’t try anything. This is just to stop you from losing your cock to frostbite.”

“You care what happens to my cock?”

“That’s a stretch.”

Slowly, like he’s still uncertain if he’s allowed, Jaskier moves towards Eskel. They sit down in front of the fire and Eskel wraps a blanket around the both of them, pulling Jaskier close. Jaskier’s skin is ice cold to the touch and that’s enough to distract Eskel from the fact that his very attractive former lover is in his arms when Eskel thought he would never get to hold him again. Well, it’s almost enough to distract him.

“Thank you.” Eskel keeps his gaze on the fire. He knows that if he looks over and meets those mismatched eyes, the little bit of self-control he has left will melt away entirely.

“It was the least I could do,” Jaskier murmurs. “I wasn’t going to let you lose Lil Bleater. She may be a menace, but she’s _our_ menace.”

Eskel closes his eyes. “Please don’t say things like that.”

“Like what?”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to be with me, but please don’t do things like calling Lil Bleater _ours_ then. It just hurts.”

“Wanting to be with you wasn’t the problem. I’ll never stop wanting you, Eskel.”

“Then why?” Eskel’s voice wavers.

Jaskier is silent for such a long moment that Eskel thinks he’s not going to answer, until the witcher says, “I wasn’t at Kaer Morhen when it fell, you know. I’d taken a liking to some wealthy merchant in Novigrad and spent the winter with him. I don’t even remember his name, but he ended up being a right prick. I didn’t know that Kaer Morhen had been sacked until I showed up the next winter and found half of it destroyed and Vesemir alone in the keep.”

Eskel can’t even imagine how that must have felt.

“Lambert and Geralt weren’t there either,” Jaskier continues. “They were both on contracts and got held up too late in the season for them to make the trip. Meanwhile, _I_ was eating bonbons and attending orgies while my brothers were getting slaughtered. Because I let my emotions get the better of me, just like my instructors always said I did.”

“You couldn’t have done anything. If dozens of trained witchers couldn’t hold against the people who attacked Kaer Morhen, I don’t think you would have made that much of a difference.”

“Maybe not, but I could have at least been with them,” Jaskier says. “I thought that was the worst I would ever feel, coming home and finding my family gone, knowing that I had failed them. And then I watched Mikhail tear your throat out and listened to your heart stop beating because I had pissed off the wrong group of vampires. And I knew I was going to have to live every day for the rest of my life knowing that I had let you die.”

Eskel turns to study Jaskier’s profile, lit in a golden glow by the light of the hearth. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Of course it was. I wasn’t careful enough and that put you in danger.”

“No.” Eskel shakes his head. “Listen, after Mathias and my parents died, I obsessed over what I could have done differently. Maybe if I’d been a bit faster during that skirmish with the Nilfgaardians, maybe if I hadn’t stopped for the night on the way home from the front. It’s comforting to think that there’s something you could have magically done to stop something bad from happening. It’s also a waste of time.”

Jaskier doesn’t say anything.

Eskel reaches up to touch the scar tissue on his throat. “This happened because Mikhail was a monster that preyed on innocent people. He wouldn’t have stopped after Whitecliff. He would have let you take the fall for some of his murders, and then he would have gone on to commit more. You saved lives when you killed him. You saved me.”

“Triss and Yennefer—”

“Did the healing, I know. But you’re the one who stopped him from finishing the job.” Eskel remembers that horrible, gaunt face and shudders.

Jaskier tightens his grip on Eskel without seeming to realize he’s doing it. His skin is starting to warm up. “I never want anything like that to happen again. I never want to put you in danger again.”

“I live in Velen. Having monsters try to take a bite out of you is a rite of passage around here.”

“I know that. I just…” Jaskier closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I came so close to losing you, Eskel. And I can’t fucking stand it.”

There’s so much raw agony in his voice that Eskel can’t bring himself to be angry anymore. All the hurt and resentment he’s been bottling up for months just seems to drain away. Eskel raises a hand to cup Jaskier’s cheek and Jaskier presses into his palm.

“Triss said what saved me was my hillfolk blood,” he says. “You’re right, I do have magic in my veins.”

“I knew that from the moment I saw you.”

“So that means that I’ll probably be around for a long time, unless Lil Bleater finally snaps and mauls me.”

Jaskier chuckles.

“I can’t say that you won’t ever lose me,” Eskel says. “Because the world is a dangerous place. Just like you can’t promise me that I’ll never lose you. But fuck, Jaskier, if I’m going to be alive for the next two or three hundred years, I don’t want to do it without you. Please don’t make me do it without you.”

Jaskier presses his forehead against Eskel’s. “I’m sorry, I’ve been such an asshole.”

Eskel nods. “Yes.”

“How can you still want me, after what a prick I’ve been?”

“Because I love you,” Eskel says. “I’m always going to love you. And I forgive you.”

Jaskier kisses Eskel. It’s a desperate kiss, all teeth and tongue, with months of longing bubbling over. Next thing Eskel knows, he’s flat on his back with one of Jaskier’s hands cradling the back of his neck while the other strokes its way down his chest and belly to the waistband of his breeches. Eskel can feel the length of Jaskier’s cock pressed against his thigh and his own erection is straining his breeches.

“Jask,” he gasps into Jaskier’s mouth and is answered with a moan. Jaskier cups Eskel’s cock through his breeches and Eskel’s hips jerk of their own volition, grinding against the palm of Jaskier’s hand desperately. Fuck, he needs out of these pants. He needs Jaskier’s hands on his skin.

From next to them, there’s a reproachful bleat, causing both Jaskier and Eskel to jump. They turn to see Lil Bleater staring at them from her nest of blankets, somehow managing to project such an air of wounded dignity that Eskel feels like he’s being scolded by a grandmother.

“She’s awake,” Jaskier says, voice hushed.

Lil Bleater bleats again.

Eskel grins. “I think we may have disturbed her nap.”

Lil Bleater stands up, turns around, and settles back in her nest of blankets with her back turned to them,

“I saved your life,” Jaskier tells her. “Nearly froze to death doing it.”

She doesn’t even dignify that with a bleat.

Eskel and Jaskier look at each other and promptly dissolve into fits of laughter.

“As lovely as a romp by the fireplace sounds, I think we may need to move to the bed,” Jaskier says. “Lest we disturb the patient.”

“Can’t have that.” Eskel can’t take his eyes off as Jaskier. In the glow of the firelight, he looks so pretty that he hardly seems real. “Not after you put all that effort into saving her.”

“Well.” Jaskier smiles wickedly. “Looks like I’m finally getting that accolade I expected.”

“Glad I could live up to expectations.”

“You alway do.” Jaskier drags Eskel to his feet and towards the bed.

***

When Eskel lands on the bed, looking up at Jaskier with eyes gone dark with lust, he might be the most beautiful thing Jaskier has ever seen. Jaskier stands there for a moment, drinking the sight in— the familiar width of Eskel’s shoulders, the lines and curves of his torso, the length of his cock visible through his breeches. Jaskier wants to have his mouth on every inch of Eskel, but he doesn’t even know where to start.

“Are you just going to stare at me all night?” Eskel asks.

“Maybe I will.” But Jaskier crawls on top of Eskel to capture his nipple in his mouth. Eskel gasps, back arching as Jaskier teases at his nipple with his teeth and tongue.

Jaskier kisses his way up Eskel’s throat, reveling in the hitch of Eskel’s breath. “Fuck, Eskel, you have no many ideas how many times I thought about you like this when I made my way across the Continent. I tried not to, but I couldn’t stop.”

“If you’ve been thinking about this so much, you think you’d stop teasing me and get to it,” Eskel growls.

Jaskier laughs against his shoulder. “Oh, darling, I haven’t even _begun_ to tease you.”

He rolls his hips, pressing down against the length of Eskel’s erection. Eskel makes a choked noise as Jaskier finds a slow, steady rhythm. The smell of his arousal is thick in the air and Jaskier is overwhelmed with equal parts love and lust. He doesn’t know how he ever let this go.

Suddenly, Eskel grabs him by the waist and flips him over, pinning him down to the bed with ease. Jaskier finds himself caught between the mattress and Eskel’s warm, solid weight. It may be one of the most arousing things that’s ever happened to him.

Eskel nips at Jaskier’s shoulder. “Forgot what a fucking tease you are.”

“You shouldn’t be so fun to tease, then.” Jaskier lets himself be pinned in place, not even trying to grind upwards to find friction again.

“I could always give you a taste of your own medicine.”

“You could, but you won’t.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re a better man than me.” Jaskier kisses the corner of Eskel’s mouth. “Fuck me.”

Eskel’s eyes go comically wide. “You… you want that?”

Jaskier can feel a fond laugh rising in his chest. “I’ve yet to find a method of fucking or being fucked that I don’t enjoy. Well, no, that’s a lie. There was this priestess in Metinna who—”

Eskel kisses the words away. “You want to talk about the priestess in Metinna, or you want me to fuck you?”

“The latter. Most definitely the latter.” Jaskier fumbles at the waistband of Eskel’s breeches. He hears fabric tear and makes a mental note that he’ll need to get Eskel a new pair later, but that’s a problem to deal with tomorrow. Eskel doesn’t stop kissing him the entire time he’s kicking off the torn breeches. His breathing in coming out in harsh gasps.

Jaskier wraps his hand around Eskel’s cock, teasing the tip with his thumb. “You like this idea?”

“I like all ideas involving having you here with me. You’re not the only one who spent all summer fantasizing. I may never let you out of this bed.”

“Sounds like the opposite of a problem.”

Eskel reaches for the little jar of oil on the bedside table, knocking a pile of books to the ground in the process, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. His eyes are focused on Jaskier’s hand around his cock. Jaskier doesn’t let go, still slowly working his hand up and down Eskel’s shaft, as Eskel slips his hand between Jaskier’s legs.

“You’re going to distract me if you keep that up,” Eskel murmurs.

“Good. I like you distracted.” Jaskier’s words end in a garbled moan as Eskel’s clever fingers work over his balls before one slips inside his hole. Eskel’s finger feels divine inside him, thick and strong. Jaskier moans into Eskel’s shoulder as Eskel works a second finger inside him and gives a deft little twist of his wrist, sending sparks of pleasure up Jaskier’s spine.

“Gods, Eskel, your hands,” Jaskier says. “I knew you would be good at this, but _gods._ Your hands are a marvel.”

A dusky blush creeps over Eskel’s cheeks. Jaskier has missed that blush.

Jaskier brushes kisses over every inch of Eskel’s skin that he can read: shoulders, pecs, neck, arms, jawline. “I think I’m going to spend the rest of the winter writing ballads about these magnificent shoulders of yours.”

“That will get boring fast.”

“You’re right.” Jaskier tries to look thoughtful, but Eskel’s fingers opening him up are thoroughly distracting. He reaches around and squeezes a handful of Eskel’s ass. “I’ll break it up with songs about your glorious ass.”

Eskel grins. “I forgot how ridiculous you are.”

“Did you? I’ll have to step it up. Can’t have you forgetting—” Jaskier’s words break off in a moan as Eskel slides down his body and takes Jaskier’s cock in his mouth.

“Oh, fuck.” It takes everything in Jaskier not to buck his hips. “I know you’re just trying to shut me up, but please keep trying to—”

Eskel licks a stripe up Jaskier’s cock at the same time that he slips a third finger into his hole and Jaskier forgets what he was going to say. He can only clutch the bedsheets and moan as Eskel licks and sucks and teases. Eskel looks gorgeous in the firelight with his tousled hair and flushed cheeks. The sight of him with his mouth around Jaskier’s cock, cheeks hollowed as he sucks, is breathtaking. The head of Jaskier’s cock brushes the back of Eskel’s throat at the same time Eskel’s fingers give a particularly clever twist.

“Going to come,” Jaskier manages to gasp, but instead of releasing Jaskier’s cock, Eskel only sucks harder. Jaskier comes with a breathy moan and goes boneless as Eskel nuzzles at his softening cock.

“Get up here and fuck me,” Jaskier says and Eskel doesn’t need any further encouragement. He kisses his way up Jaskier’s body, hands trembling a bit in his eagerness. When his cock— his fucking fantastic cock, Jaskier is going to need to remember to write a ballad about that— starts to slide inside of Jaskier, both men moan in unison. Eskel stops, takes a deep breath, then works his way further inside.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs.

“Is this okay?” Jaskier laughs, high and breathless. “Eskel, I cannot possibly convey in words how much better than okay—”

Eskel begins to thrust and Jaskier loses his train of thought _again._

Jaskier tries to commit every detail to memory: the slide of Eskel’s length inside him, the warmth of his lover’s body on top of him, the salty taste of Eskel’s skin when Jaskier kisses his throat, the moans he can feel vibrating in Eskel’s chest. There’s no ballad that could capture the love and lust and awe in Eskel’s expression when he looks down at Jaskier. Jaskier kisses him, tasting himself on Eskel’s tongue as Eskel shudders and comes. Jaskier gathers Eskel against him and holds him close as Eskel’s cock softens inside of him. Neither of them make any attempt to move.

“In case it isn’t clear,” Jaskier murmurs into his skin. “I love you, Eskel. I never stopped loving you and I never will.”

Eskel nuzzles into him. “I love you too.”

Jaskier will have more to say tomorrow, when his brain has cleared long enough to form coherent sentences. But for now, this is enough.

***

When Eskel wakes the next morning, the sound of the wind has died outside, sunlight is creeping in around the edges of the boarded-up windows, and Jaskier is sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed and watching Eskel with open fondness.

“Morning.” Eskel stretches sleepily. He knows he should have been up hours ago, but after several rounds of enthusiastic reunion sex last night, he’s sore, sated, and unwilling to move from the bed.

“Lil Bleater has been triumphantly returned to the barn and the animals are all accounted for and taken care of. Scorpion has no interest in me when I’m not with Pegasus, apparently, which I just find hurtful.”

Eskel snorts. “Thank you.”

“You needed the sleep.” Jaskier grins wickedly. “I kept you up late last night.”

“That you did.” Eskel props himself up on his elbows, noticing that Jaskier is wearing the red sweater. “Sweater looks good on you.”

“Not as good as being naked looks on you, dear heart.” Jaskier winks exaggeratedly. “I have something for you.”

“If it’s your cock, I need a bit of a break.”

“Oh no, there’s plenty of time for that later.” Jaskier scoots closer and holds out a hand to Eskel. His smile is oddly shy. “When I was at Kaer Morhen last winter, I made this for you.”

It’s the wolf’s head medallion Eskel found in Jaskier’s bag the night before. He sits up and takes it from Jaskier. The metal has been warmed by Jaskier’s hands; Eskel runs a thumb over the lines of the snarling face.

“You made it for me?” Eskel’s voice comes out sounding hoarse.

Jaskier nods. “It used to be that after we passed the Trials, we got to forge our own medallions. They were a symbol that you had gone through the worst kind of pain imaginable, but you survived and now you were part of the Wolf School. But over the years, they’ve come to represent family. Home. Yennefer, Ciri, and Aiden have medallions. Coën and Triss too. I want you to have one, Eskel, because you’re my home. You’re my heart. You’re everything.”

Eskel can’t speak around the sudden lump in his throat. He flips the medallion over to study the Elder inscription.

“It’s a line from the song about the elven maiden and her human lover I sang to you once,” Jaskier says. “It says, ‘You’re in my heart, you’re in my blood, you’re in my bones.’”

“That’s a very witcher way of saying, ‘I love you,’” Eskel manages to croak.

Jaskier laughs and Eskel realizes that he’s going to spend every day for the rest of his life falling in love with this man over and over again.

Gently, Jaskier takes the medallion from Eskel and slips the chain around his neck. “I want to stay here with you. For as long as you’ll have me.”

Eskel looks into those mismatched eyes. “And what if I want you forever?”

Jaskier leans his forehead against Eskel’s. “Then I’ll stay here forever.”

***

**One year later**

Witchers don’t retire, Jaskier is fond of telling Eskel, so settling down at Eskel’s farm isn’t a retirement. It’s just a new, different Path.

There’s a peace to life with Jaskier— to waking up with a familiar body pressed against his and falling asleep with his head pillowed on Jaskier’s chest. With two pairs of hands, chores get done quicker and the farm is more lucrative than ever. Eskel is contemplating getting more goats, and maybe even a couple of pigs. Things that didn’t seem possible a year ago are now within Eskel’s reach.

But most importantly, Eskel knows he’ll never be alone again, and that’s worth all the coin on the Continent.

The people of Ashling Grove have slowly adjusted to having a witcher in their midst. There's been plenty of gossip— after all, the wolf’s head medallion around Eskel’s neck may as well be a wedding band. But the scandal of having the local loner living in debauchery with a witcher has been subverted by the convenience of having said witcher living so close to town.

These days, when a wyvern starts carrying off sheep or travelers are preyed on by a grave hag, the locals no longer have to send out a group of men and hope that at least a few of them survive or wait for a witcher to pass by. At least once a week, someone comes calling in need of Jaskier’s witchering, and he’s only too happy to don his armor, grab his swords, and go help. He’s rarely gone for more than a night, so Eskel doesn’t let himself worry too much. After all, if any part of the Continent needs a local witcher, it’s Velen.

“Do you ever miss it?” Eskel asks Jaskier every so often, when the two of them are curled up in bed together.

“There’s nothing to miss,” Jaskier will reply, brushing a kiss across the bridge of Eskel’s nose or the soft spot under his ear, whichever is more easily accessible.

“What about traveling? Seeing the Continent?”

“I’ve already seen the Continent, dear heart. I have everything I need right here.”

But Eskel still talks to the sheep farmers’ children being willing to watch the farm for a few weeks at a time a couple of times a year. Jaskier may be content on their little farm in the middle of nowhere, but that doesn’t mean that needs to be their whole world.

Plus, Eskel won’t be the reason Jaskier misses out on winters at Kaer Morhen with his family. When he brings it up to Jaskier, his lover looks dubious. “You want to spend the winter in a crumbling keep in the mountains?”

“Just for a week or two,” Eskel says. “Can’t leave the farm for longer than that.”

“It will be cold.”

Eskel pulls him close and kisses him. “Good thing I’ll have you to warm me up.”

In the dead of winter, Yennefer portals them to Kaer Morhen. Portaling is a uniquely uncomfortable experience and Eskel finally understands why it’s not a widespread method of travel.

“No one likes portaling, dear heart,” Jaskier says, rubbing Eskel’s back sympathetically. “You didn’t lose your breakfast.”

“Not yet,” Eskel groans.

Behind them, there’s a bleat and Eskel and Jaskier look around to see Lil Bleater chewing on the hem of Yennefer’s dress.

“She jumped through the portal after us.” Yennefer looks down at the goat with a bemused expression.

“Of course she did.” Eskel pulls Lil Bleater away. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Unrepentant, she finds a blade of grass to chew on.

It’s only then that Eskel looks up at their surroundings. The mountains are taller than he imagined, with their peaks disappearing into the clouds above. The scenery is breathtaking, with miles of snowy peaks and valleys visible. Even Kaer Morhen is a marvel, more gorgeous than Eskel expected an ancient ruin to be.

“Come on,” Yennefer tells them. “The others have been looking forward to seeing you.”

Eskel takes Jaskier’s hand and they walk towards the keep, with Lil Bleater trotting along behind them.

They’re greeted by laughter and hugs and warmth that seems out of place in this imposing keep. Ciri wants to know how Mavis and her girls are doing, Triss is delighted by how well Eskel’s throat has healed up in the past year, and Lambert has a lot to say about how Jaskier is an old man who has joined Geralt in retirement. When Geralt hugs Jaskier, his eyes meet Eskel’s over Jaskier’s shoulder and his lips curl into a small smile that manages to convey, _“thank you for giving this idiot another chance”_ and _“welcome to the family”_ without Geralt having to say a word.

By dinnertime, Eskel realizes it’s pure chaos when the Wolf witchers and their partners are all together. He’s often wondered how something as harsh as witcher training could produce a person as joyful and full of life as Jaskier, but he understands it once he sees them all interact— Jaskier affectionately teasing Geralt, Lambert and Jaskier ribbing each other, Vesemir presiding over all of it with fond exasperation.

It’s a family, and Eskel is so grateful to be a part of it.

As he sits in front of the fire with his lover and his lover’s entire family, pressed against Jaskier’s side with a warm arm around his shoulders, he listens to Lambert and Ciri debate what the new yearly betting pool should be now that Jaskier has settled down. “You’re not betting on my love life, Uncle Lambert,” Ciri says sternly. “Cerys would kick your ass all the way to the Korvath Desert.” Jaskier’s laughter rings in Eskel’s ears, bright and merry, and Eskel feels perfectly at home.

If this is his Path, then he’s happy he gets to share it with the man he loves.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Lil Bleater know exactly what she was doing when she got lost in the snow? Who can say?
> 
> Thank you again for reading. I hope this ending was everything you were hoping for!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated. There's no set update schedule for this fic, but I will try to update it at least once a week.
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://ghostinthelibrarywrites.tumblr.com/) or on Discord at ghostinthelibrary#1691


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